


Darkness and Silence

by Kittenshift17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood and Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Marriage, Heavy Angst, Multi, Romance, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-03-26 18:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 200,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13863633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenshift17/pseuds/Kittenshift17
Summary: Caught in the Potions classroom when Snape returns from a dangerous Death Eater meeting, Hermione is terrified until she sees he's wounded and in need of her help. Knowing she should leave before he realises her crush, but unable when he needs her, Hermione patches him up and is only too happy to show him how grateful she is for all he sacrifices.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: *stumbles in, blushing.*
> 
> *Drops notes, half-written stories and positively pornographic pictures and one-shots all over the floor.*
> 
> *Stammers incoherently*
> 
> *Scrapes up most of the incriminating evidence, save one*
> 
> *scampers away with a squeak*
> 
> xx-Kitten

**Darkness and Silence**

_By Kittenshift17_

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

Hermione looked up, startled when the door to the Potions classroom was flung wide, banging off the wall and scaring her half to death. She froze in terror, knowing she wasn't supposed to still be in the dungeons so late. It was well after hours and she should've gone to bed long ago but she'd been intrigued by the potion she'd been working on and had lost track of time.

Despite her fear at being caught out of bed, Hermione's heart raced with terror over something more when the volatile wizard stepped through the door clad in the robes and mask of a Death Eater. She held perfectly still as Professor Snape stalked across the room, the door slamming closed behind him so loudly that it echoed all the way down the corridor and hurt Hermione's ears.

He was trailing blood as he went, she noticed, her eyes fixed on him as she stood stiff beside her cauldron. He looked in her direction when she belatedly jumped and tried to hide the evidence of her presence. Hermione felt a chill run down her spine at the sight. His robes were torn open and he was bleeding profusely, but that wasn't what caused her distress.

No, Hermione's heart hammered out an uneven and erratic beat because when he looked at her the eyes glittering behind that terrible mask showed no glimmer of humanity. She knew he wasn't entirely himself when, despite her presence, he didn't scold her or scream at her to get out. He didn't speak at all, in fact, and Hermione watched with growing concern as he stalked to one of the cupboards behind his desk, which were heavily warded to keep students from raiding them.

He paid no mind to the trail of blood he was leaving in his wake and Hermione's eyes widened when he opened the cupboard, withdrew a bottle of expensive looking fire-whiskey, twisted the lid off and lifted it to his lips. He paused halfway there, his mask still in place and Hermione frowned when he reached with one bloodied hand to pry it from his face before flinging it carelessly on the desk.

She wondered if his lack of care at her presence was born of unawareness in his current mental state, or if it was merely because it was her and he knew she already knew he was a Death Eater and didn't care if she saw some of the effects of the perilous job he did for the Order.

"Professor, you're bleeding," Hermione said lamely, her feet carrying her, unbidden, to his side.

He didn't acknowledge her. He merely threw himself down into his office chair and continued to skol the contents of the whiskey bottle. Hermione hesitated as she drew closer, her teeth beginning to chatter and her body trembling with the cold fury and power he was radiating. She knew what that meant. He probably had no idea he was bleeding. He was too deeply entrenched in his own Occlumency shields to feel things like pain.

"Professor, we need to get you to the Hospital Wing," Hermione tried again, moving closer. Her stomach clenched when she saw the extent of his injuries. It looked like he'd been set upon by Greyback, five long gouges dripping blood down his chest. She spied another slash in the fabric and flesh covering his right thigh – the reason for the blood trail – and Hermione knew he was in real danger. If she didn't heal him immediately, he could bleed out right there in his chair long before she could talk him back to humanity enough to feel the pain of his injuries.

"Bugger," Hermione muttered, flicking her wand and summoning a cauldron to herself. She scoured it clean quickly before filling it with warm water and conjuring a cloth. Invading his personal space, Hermione didn't bother asking permission to touch him or heal him. He'd never have given it, no matter the danger to his own life, were he aware enough to know what she wanted.

His dark eyes fixed upon her when Hermione invaded his personal space but when she reached a shaking hand out to touch him and peel back his robes and his shirt – having to use her wand to get the many buttons undone – he didn't protest. He simply stared. Hermione hated when he did it to her in his classes, knowing that he was judging her every move, just waiting for her to make mistake.

When his chest and stomach were bare, his robes hanging open about his shoulders, Hermione wrung out the cloth in the hot water and began trying to bathe off some of the blood. He flinched ever so slightly at the first brush of warmth against his skin but Hermione met his gaze, offering him a reassuring smile.

"Professor?" she asked quietly as she worked quickly, trying to clean him up enough to figure out if regular healing charms would seal the gashes or not.

He made no response, but when she moved and snapped her fingers in front of his face to ensure he was still in there, he tracked her movements with his eyes. He drank deeply from his bottle when she pressed the cloth directly to the cuts, bathing as much of the blood off as she could manage from his chest and his stomach.

Hermione's cheeks were crimson as she worked, discovering that though they seemed to have been inflicted by werewolf claws, the gashes responded normally to a healing charm. When the wounds were sealed, she bathed the skin some more, leaving no traces of blood behind. She couldn't un-see the pale expanse of his form, nor could she ignore the wiry span of sinew and muscle that shifted restlessly under his skin. He was scarred and bony, she noticed, his body showing the evidence of a life lived hard.

"Professor, I um… I need to heal this one, too," she told him, pointing to the gash on his thigh. He made no response, though his eyes tracked her finger when she pointed to the wound. When she met his gaze, wondering what he might suggest since she couldn't really heal it without stripping him out of his trousers, there was a dark and wicked gleam in his obsidian eyes. He knew on some level that she would have to strip him to heal him, and he seemed to know she was brave enough to do it, no matter the way her hands shook.

Hermione blushed brightly again as she reached for the fastening on his trousers, wondering if he would stop her. He didn't. He just took another swig from his bottle and Hermione narrowed her eyes on him when he offered it to her, a wicked little smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. He must surely be caught deep in the persona of his Death Eater side to be offering liquor to a student, no matter that she was of age.

Snatching it from him, Hermione lifted it to her lips and gulped down a few mouthfuls, steeling her nerves to the task ahead no matter the thrill of wrong-doing that rushed through her to be drinking alcohol inside the school and in the company of a teacher. It wasn't that she was embarrassed by the human form or that she feared the sight of the wound. It was nerves at the idea of seeing her Potions Professor in even less that he wore now.

He didn't speak when she handed the bottle back to him, coughing a little at the strength of the concoction. He didn't wipe the lid before drinking deeply again, tipping his head back as he skolled some more of it and Hermione took that as all the permission she needed. Despite her shaking hands, she unzipped his fly and tugged on the fabric of his trousers, jerking them down. He slid down a little in the chair and he growled in his throat when the fabric grated over the wound.

Ah, so he was in there after all.

"Sorry, sir," Hermione said, yanking on the pants again until they slid to his knees. She tugged them again until they bunched at his ankles and Hermione hissed in annoyance when she had to pause to get his boots off, needing to completely remove the blood-stained fabric to clean all the blood from his skin.

He made no protest as she tugged his boots off his feet, first the left and then the right. She shoved them aside and pulled his pants free of his ankles, her cheeks on fire at the sight of his socks and the black hair dusting his legs. She was kneeling as she reached for the cauldron of hot water and Hermione squeaked in shock and slammed he eyes closed when she turned her attention back to what she was meant to be doing and found him naked.

He'd been commando under his trousers and Hermione whimpered when she caught sight of him in all his glory.

"You're going to kill me when you resurface," Hermione muttered, knowing he still needed healing. Tugging on the long Death Eater cloak he wore, Hermione laid a portion of the fabric over his crotch and she would swear she could hear him chuckling as she set to work on his thigh though she didn't dare lift her eyes to his face, lest he see her mortification. Or worse, her curiosity and desire.

She bathed the blood off quickly and muttered the charms to heal him. Hermione froze as she healed the last gouge when he bumped her cheek with the bottle. Blinking and looking up at him, she found his dark eyes fixed on her face intently in a way she'd never seen before and Hermione gulped audibly.

"Professor?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

"Professor Snape?" she tried again and a faint flicker of recognition was her reward. Hermione bit her lip for a moment, butterflies beginning to riot in her stomach.

"Severus?" she asked quietly, testing his given name for the very first time. He jerked slightly, and Hermione flinched.

The cold fury and power still emanated from him, but the slow indrawn breath he took and the way his gaze seemed to sharpen made her think he was coming back to himself.

"You shouldn't be here," he told her, his voice low and husky in a way she'd never heard any man speak before and Hermione gulped again.

"I needed to heal you," she whispered, trying to offer explanation.

She didn't realise as she said so, scrambling and trying to make sure he wasn't going to shout at her, that she'd put her hands on his thighs. His gaze fell to them and Hermione froze when she realised she'd been smoothing her palms over his bare skin. Her eyes darted to his bare chest when he took another slow breath in.

"I am healed," he murmured, and Hermione nodded, watching him slowly reach forward to set the bottle upon his desk behind his bloodied mask.

Frowning, Hermione reached for his hands when she noted they were still bloody and he froze at the touch when she held onto him gently, reaching for the cloth to clean him off once more. Slowly, methodically, Hermione worked the cloth over his skin, reaching for more and more of him when she realised how much of him was still bloodstained.

He didn't speak again throughout the entire process and Hermione froze as she was using one hand to tilt his chin to one side, the other wiping at a smear of blood on his neck, still on her knees and leaning over him. He'd tangled one hand into her loose curls and Hermione blinked, realising she was practically lying in his lap.

Indeed, the feel of his cool fingers gliding against her scalp made her tingle and Hermione blinked, almost dropping the cloth when she realised that pressing insistently against her stomach was something hot and hard and apparently just begging for some of the attention she'd been paying to the rest of him.

Blinking, Hermione slowly reached to set aside the cloth she held before meeting his gaze and finding his eyes glittering with heat.

"You should go," he told her, his voice husky and sinful in a way that made her tremble.

Hermione knew he was right, but bugger if she didn't want to. She'd been lying to herself for months about the growing intrigue and attraction she felt for Professor Snape and when he looked at her like that, the very last thing she wanted to do was remove herself from his presence.

"And if I don't want to?" Hermione dared to ask, breathless.

His lips curled into a sinister and wicked smile, and Hermione felt the way his cock twitched under her. An answering smirk crawled across her face, unbidden, and Hermione couldn't resist the urge to lower her mouth to his skin. He tangled his free hand into her hair as she trailed a soft line of kisses across his chest, kissing across the scars that littered his torso, slowly moving south.

He made no protest and Hermione nipped him very gently when he snaked a hand between them enough to move the portion of his cloak before he gripped his throbbing cock tightly. Hermione traced her hands over his thighs slowly, converging on the appendage he tormented and she heard his breath hitch as she kissed her way across his taut stomach while one of her hands carefully smoothed over him, replacing his own hand upon his length. Her heart was racing inside her chest, and her knickers were dampening rapidly.

She could barely believe that she dared touch him in such a way – at all – or that he permitted it. Merlin, from the way his breath hitched ever so slightly, Hermione felt like he was even encouraging her. She curled her hand around him carefully, and he stilled, holding his breath as though afraid move and break whatever spell weaved between them. Hermione could barely believe what she was planning, no matter the number of times she fantasized about doing such. Trailing little nips and kisses down his abs, Hermione reached the base of his cock and she paused momentarily, daring to lift her eyes to his face.

He watched her intently, his eyes glittering with what she suspected was lust, and Hermione wondered if he would stop her.

"You will regret this," he murmured when she trailed butterfly kisses toward the tip of his cock.

"Perhaps," Hermione agreed softly, smoothing her hand toward his base as she kissed to the end of his cock. She smirked just a little before she licked at the weeping head, tasting him for the first time.

He didn't react like any of the other boys had when she'd done this to them. Not that she'd done it to many, but both Ron and Viktor had hissed in surprise and approval when she licked them. Not Snape. He was too controlled for that. The only indication she had of his enjoyment was the slightest tightening on his hand in her hair.

"I will regret this," he muttered.

"Most assuredly," Hermione agreed before engulfing the head of his cock in her eager mouth.

His hands tightened in her hair even more as she slowly worked her mouth over him, inches of him disappearing inside her. He never made a sound, silent in the darkness, but Hermione had expected nothing less. He wasn't the type to mutter a string of profanities like Ron, or to murmur sweet nothings and words of praise in a foreign tongue like Viktor.

No, all Severus Snape offered as a form of approval was a tightly controlled sigh of contentment and the faintest relaxation of taut muscle. Some of the cold radiating from him dimmed and Hermione was sure she might die of the combined desire, mortification, and terror she felt right then. Desire to bring him to completion and to exchange her mouth upon his body for the feel of impaling herself on his silken steel length. Mortification borne of the logical side of her brain that was indignantly pointing out all the reasons that this was wrong, ranging from the fact that he was her teacher, her elder, and a Death Eater, right through to wretched thoughts that if anyone ever found out, she'd never live it down. And worst of all, terror. Terror that he would tell her to stop. Terror that he might push her away and unleash that impossibly dirked tongue of his, spitting venom and fury at her when he regained his full range of emotions and rationalities.

Unwilling to risk it, Hermione bobbed her head, hollowing her cheeks on each upward stroke, swallowing as much of him as she could on each return. When she dared another glance at him, his eyes were closed, his head tipped back against his chair, his brow ever so slightly furrowed. Hermione swirled her tongue over him and he drew in a sharp breath, his eyes snapping open to meet her own.

They glittered with heat and Hermione's pussy throbbed. Merlin, she wanted to stand and straddle him. She wanted to feel each glorious inch of his cock sliding inside her until he was so firmly lodged, he might never be free. Belatedly, she realised he was probably using Legilimency on her and listening to her every thought, but he showed no sign of it. He never did. She knew he used it in class, filtering out the wretched thoughts most students entertained about him in favour of plucking ways to embarrass them from their own minds.

She knew that on more than one occasion, had he been listening, he'd have heard her traitorously lustful thoughts as they pertained to him. She'd become intrigued without really noticing, if she was honest. It had begun simply by listening to his voice as he explained the method for correctly preparing ingredients for potion making. It had grown a little keener when she'd paid attention to the way his long, dexterous fingers so carefully and skilfully handled ingredients. She'd begun to watch him without meaning to, admiring the sinuous grace of his form as he stalked – looking beyond the flaring of his ever-present cloak that billowed so. She'd paid more attention to him not as her teacher, but merely as a man. A man with thoughts and feelings and wants and needs and too often she'd wondered who – if anyone – saw to his wants and needs.

Before she'd known it, she'd begun wishing that she could be the one seeing to his needs, and now here she knelt, pleasuring him. And despite his silence, she could tell he was pleased – or at the very least, enjoying the physical sensation she offered.

Hermione squeaked when his hands slipped from her hair to cup her jaw gently. The faint pressure of his hands on her made her moan in protest, realising he was trying to pry her off him. Hermione lifted her eyes to his and she frowned, not wanting to be pulled off. She released him in surprise when he chuckled very softly, amused by her protest.

"Come up here," he murmured, smoothing his fingers down the length of her neck and to her collarbones. Hermione rose slowly, standing when he urged her to her feet.

She held her breath, her heart pounding against her ribs so hard it hurt as he held her gaze while his nimble fingers deftly unbuttoned her shirt until it hung open, revealing her modest white brassier. He traced the very tips of his fingers over the swell of her breasts and across her stomach until he met the waistband of her jeans. Hermione was panting by the time he popped the button open, and the rasp of her zipper was like exquisite torture as he slid it down, his gaze never wavering from hers.

"Are you afraid?" he asked in a low, sinful voice that made her tremble.

Hermione shook her head slowly from side to side, reaching to rest her hands on his shoulders when he opened her jeans and began working them down her legs. His lips twitched when they were bunched at her ankles, and Hermione slipped her shoes off before stepping out of them. He deliberately traced his gaze over her body in that cold, assessing way of his, and Hermione trembled all the more when his fingers toyed with the little bow stitched on the front of her black knickers.

"Have you done this before?" he asked just as quietly.

Hermione was torn. She'd certainly had sex before, but she'd never felt so much like vibrating out of her skin or like she was going to explode with lust and need. She'd never been touched so gently as when he traced patterns across her stomach with his thumbs, drawing runes and circles that made her want to melt into his embrace.

She nodded her head slowly when he lifted his eyes to her face, stilling as he awaited her answer. Another twitch of his lips belied that he was pleased she was experienced and Hermione hoped it was because he had no intention of going easy on her or being gentle with her. He wasn't a gentle or a nice man and she didn't expect him to shag like he was.

When he slid his hands under the waistband of her knickers, Hermione practically vibrated with need and he smirked wickedly at her before he flicked them off her hips, sending them skidding down her thighs to puddle at her feet, leaving her bare to his gaze.

He gripped her hips lightly, steering her further around in front of himself before pushing her back against his desk. Hermione squeaked when he lifted her with apparent ease, sitting her on the edge of his desk. He nudged her legs apart and Hermione gulped, realising what he meant to do when one hand slid up to press to the middle of her chest, pushing her backward until she was lying across the desk with him between her thighs.

Hermione writhed with apprehension and excitement when she felt his free hand smoothing slowly across her abdomen and then lower. His fingers danced through the neatly trimmed curls as her core and when he sliced two fingers the length of her slit they were frigidly cold and a complete contrast to her hot, throbbing flesh. She cried out when he drove two long digits deep inside her without warning, her pussy so wet that he met with no resistance.

She arched into the touch, her head thrown back and a low moan drawn from her at the caress. Gods, she had ached for this and she was terrified that any minute now, she would wake and find this was all a dream. Not the first she'd endured, either.

"Fantasizing about me, Miss Granger?" he asked as he beckoned with those clever fingers deep inside of her.

She was beyond words, inarticulate with pleasurable delirium, but Hermione knew he didn't need her to say it to confirm the truth of it. All he had to do was peek inside her head and he'd have his answer. She dreamed of nights spent in his embrace and Hermione whimpered when he leaned forward without warning and suckled her clit into his mouth, his fingers still beckoning inside her.

Gods, she was going to explode and he'd barely touched her. Hermione whimpered, her eyes crossing and her legs trying to snap shut on him in a desperate effort to protect herself, as though they might stave off the devastation that promised should the tidal wave of pleasure be allowed to reach it's crescendo. His bony shoulders hindered their closing and his wicked chuckle titillated her senses, making her wild.

Without meaning to, Hermione tangled her hands in his dark hair, weaving her fingers through the fine strands as she arched into his touch. The caress of his lips and his tongue combined with that of his fingers and she was certain she was dying a pleasurable, happy death as he tormented her mercilessly. Butterflies rioted in her stomach and fire crackled across her senses. Fireworks began behind her eyes and Hermione huffed out a breathy little moan of completion when the wave crested, slamming into her and knocking the breath from her lungs even as she clamped tightly around his fingers.

Another of those wicked chuckles accompanied his withdrawal and before Hermione could mewl needily, her body feeling boneless with bliss, he peeled her off the desk, skidding her across the surface and pulling her into his lap. Hermione moaned when he perfectly performed the move in such a manner that before her orgasm petered out, she found herself impaled upon his throbbing cock, her legs straddling his, and her hands knotted in his hair. His arms were strong and secure around her back, holding her to him and Hermione moaned when he trailed a line of kisses across her chest, rocking under her and driving himself deeper.

Delirious with pleasure, Hermione rolled her hips, rocking into each thrust of his hips and arching under his mouth. She could feel the tremble in his muscles and the puff of his breath as he worked himself into a frenzy, using her for his own pleasure even as he pushed her toward completion once more. When she was certain she couldn't take another moment of the sweet torture, his breath hitched and his hips snapped and Hermione broke as he groaned very softly, his forehead resting against her shoulder as he spent himself inside her.

Hermione sighed as the high slowly wore off, still intimately entwined with him and not at all interested in moving. His hands kneaded her lower back just hard enough to make her groan and she surrendered her weight to him, leaning against his chest as he slowly leaned back in his chair with her sprawled across him in the closest thing to cuddling that she imagined he might ever permit. Hermione let her eyes drift closed, simply breathing in the scent of his skin and focusing on the warmth that seemed to finally begin emitting from him, rather than the power and cold fury he'd been radiating since he walked in.

The hiss of a cauldron penetrated her hazy mind slowly and Hermione turned her head where it rested on his shoulder, her eyes narrowing on the potion she'd been brewing in the corner of the room.

"What were you brewing, Miss Granger?" he asked quietly, tensing slowly under her once more as the quiet moment of bliss was broken.

"Bruise Salve," she sighed, frowning as an acrid odour began emitting from the neglected potion.

"You have over-cooked it and created Garrotting Gas," he observed and Hermione had never heard him sound so utterly blasé about the destruction of a potion.

"Seems that way," Hermione agreed, making no move to intercede with the potion, not wanting to get off him quite yet.

"You can't stay there forever, you know?" he asked dryly, apparently caught somewhere between disapproval and amusement.

"No," Hermione sighed. "I suppose not."

As she slowly peeled herself off him and leaned back until she could peer into his face, Hermione coughed lightly, frowning.

"Off, now," he commanded. "Quickly. Before we both begin to choke."

Hermione nodded, squirming in his lap until she got her feet under her and could stand. The wetness between her legs felt uncomfortable as he slipped free of her folds and Hermione stumbled back a step until she hit his desk when he stood quickly, the cloak still hanging about his shoulders falling forward to keep his modesty as he fished out his wand and flicked it at the cauldron, Vanishing the contents and dousing the flame. Another flick cleared the air and Hermione felt her mind kick-start once more when he slowly turned his dark eyes on her, watching her with an unreadable expression. Standing once more and towering over her, Hermione remembered all too well why the younger students cowered in his presence and why the older ones didn't dare to argue with his directives unless they had a death wish.

He exuded power. It oozed from his pores and radiated from his person in such a way that had she not already been pressed up against the desk with her shirt hanging open and her knickers tangled about her feet, she'd have taken a cautious step back.

"You shouldn't be here, Miss Granger," he informed her, his brow furrowing as though just realising that her presence there so late at night meant she was out after curfew.

"I know," she nodded. "I lost track of time brewing, and then you returned…. I might've been a little distracted after that."

He sniffed imperiously, though a wicked gleam in his eyes belied his sardonic amusement.

"So, to be clear on the extent of your rule-breaking, you are out of bed after hours, making use of school supplies and equipment without permission, and have been canoodling on school grounds. You are in breach of the dress code, and you are not showing proper respect for a teacher of this school. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"That I've  _never_  shown as much respect for any teacher as I've shown you this evening," Hermione retorted, her pride flaring. "Sir."

His smirk was purely wicked as he took a step closer to her. Hermione leaned back, not at all feeling safe when he looked at her like that. She made to lean her hands on the desk and she hissed in surprise when his hand shot out to grip her wrist tightly just before she could touch his discarded Death Eater mask. The smirk he wore, that she might've called playful, disappeared in an instant and he jerked her away from the mask before she could comprehend what was happening.

" _Never_  touch that, Miss Granger," he warned, his voice losing its mildly teasing lilt and returning to the serious, no-nonsense tone he used in his everyday teaching.

"Yes, sir," Hermione whispered, her eyes widening when he flicked his wand once more, levitating the blood-stained mask from the desk and sending it whizzing through the door that led to his office, and then to his private quarters beyond the classroom.

She recognised in an instant that whatever strange moment they'd shared that had left them both sated and pant-less was over and Hermione stepped back out of his hold once more. Her cheeks flushed crimson as he re-drew the line between student and teacher. Ducking down, Hermione scooped up her knickers, her jeans, and her shoes, and she scurried to the far side of the desk to don them. She didn't dare look at him again as he dressed himself once more.

She couldn't believe what they'd done and her mind began to race with fear over the repercussions of their actions. Unable to look at him again, fearful of his reaction, Hermione pressed her lips together and twitched her hands. She wanted to leave before he could say something hurtful about her morals or her obvious stupidity, or before he could tell her what a mistake they'd just made. She wanted to, but she didn't dare. Not until he dismissed her. She didn't doubt he would give her detention or dock house points for all the infractions he'd listed.

Hermione darted a nervous glance in his direction when the scratching of a quill caught her attention and she watched, brow furrowed, as he scrawled out a hasty note.

"Return to bed, Miss Granger," he commanded, thrusting the piece of parchment in her direction when he laid down his quill.

Hermione blinked, taking it automatically and nearly jumping out of her skin when her fingers brushed his. She noticed idly that the floor was damp as she backed away, belatedly realising that both the cauldron she'd used to clean the blood off him and the whiskey bottle he'd been skolling had toppled from the desk amid the throes of passion. She hadn't even heard the clang or the tinkle of a falling cauldron or shattering glass and Hermione's cheeks warmed even more.

"Yes, sir," Hermione whispered, accepting the note – a permission slip for being out of bed after hours - and her instructions. "Thank you, sir."

He narrowed his eyes on her and Hermione blushed brightly, realising he thought she was thanking him for the sex. She held the note up indicatively, unable to articulate her meaning of gratitude for the note, though she was grateful for the sex, too.

Hermione scuttled over to the desk where she'd been brewing and flicked her wand, watching her notes and her equipment pack themselves up and tuck themselves back into her bag. She slung the bag onto her shoulder and she didn't wait for him to speak again before she headed for the door. A lesser man might've threatened her or warned her to keep her mouth shut about what they'd done. A more caring man might've thanked her, or at the very least offered to walk her back to her dormitory or even bid her goodnight.

Not Snape.

He didn't say a word, though his eyes tracked her every step as she left the room, meeting her gaze unapologetically when she looked back from the doorway. Hermione bit her lip, taking in his dishevelled appearance, his ruffled hair and his rumpled clothing. His cheeks bore the faintest tint of colour from their exertions, barely perceptible in the darkness of the dungeon classroom, but as she hurried away, Hermione couldn't help the smile that crawled across her face or the spring that crept into her step.

She didn't know how she would face him in tomorrow's Potions class, or how she would explain to Harry and Ron why it was that she didn't have fresh pots of Bruise Salve to hand out to them to better treat their Quidditch Training injuries. She didn't know how she would get through the day without thinking about the sweet feel of his mouth on her body and his fingers beckoning deep inside her. She didn't know how she would ever look upon his desk whilst delivering samples of her potions for class without blushing and recalling the way she'd sprawled across it while he licked her pussy. How would she ever see him sitting in his chair and not daydream of straddling his lap and riding him once more?

As she trailed away, revelling in the darkness and silence of the cold corridors while she climbed toward Gryffindor Tower, Hermione didn't know how she was going to ever forget what she'd just done. And she didn't mind a bit, because if the memory of his body moving so intimately with hers was the last she could recall on her deathbed, that would be fine with her.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

* * *

Severus leaned against the wall of the shower, letting the frigidly cold spray cascade over his body and trying to get the wretchedly inappropriate thoughts out of his head. He was a fool. Never, in all his years of teaching, had he lowered or debased himself enough to have a fucked a student under his tutelage and he was beyond disgusted with himself over what had occurred late last night in his classroom.

As Head of Slytherin House, and as a man known to certain pureblood families as being aligned with the Dark Lord, Severus hadn't been lacking in offers from some of his senior female Slytherins, and he'd resolutely turned them all down. He had more respect for his position, and more than enough lies to keep track of as he played the treacherous double agent flitting between the Dark Lord and the Order of the Phoenix. He didn't need the complication of fucking a student and he didn't want to be a cradle-robbing cad who abused his position of power of any student.

And yet, he had fucked  _her_.

She was insufferable. A know-it-all. Pompous. A Gryffindor. She was stubborn and arrogant and exceedingly annoying in his classes. She was a curly-haired, studious, passingly pretty girl. She certainly wasn't the type of breathtakingly beautiful specimen that ought to have lured him from his resistance and his abstinence. Beyond her wicked intellect, there was little that was altogether memorable or tempting about her.

And yet, he'd fucked her.

Severus pounded his fist against the cold stone wall of the shower in frustration. He'd fucked up. Badly. He knew it. Oh, he doubted the girl was the type to attempt to blackmail him over his moment of weakness. She would be too concerned by the thought of what her bumbling dunderheaded friends might say to find out she'd fucked him. She'd been too worried about the accusations of fucking teachers for her good grades. She was probably too smart to expose herself to their ridicule, and until last night, he'd thought her smart enough not to make so foolish a decision as to get within three feet of him.

He'd been stupid. It wasn't that he didn't fuck, though he admittedly hadn't in a while before last night. Not that many of his recent encounters had been of his own volition. He might've chosen to participate, but it was usually on the orders of the Dark Lord at a revel, or for the sake of making an example out of someone, or merely because it was expected of him. He didn't think any of his recent partners, save Miss Granger, had been any more willing than he.

And now he'd gone and cocked everything up, fucked one of his least favourite students, and let her catch him in a vulnerable state. Last night's meeting had not at all gone as planned and Severus had been disgruntled to learn some of his news to pass to the Dark Lord was second-hand knowledge thanks to a rat in their midst. He'd been punished by the Dark Lord, first with the Cruciatus curse, and then had been set upon by Greyback for the sake of leaving a mark. Severus knew the Dark Lord had intended to have the wolf scar him, so that he might remember in future to better do his job as a spy.

He might've stumbled back to the school in pain and dripping a trail of blood, but he had no excuse for his behaviour. The minute he'd spied the girl in the classroom, he should've sent her on her way, even before she could heal him. He hadn't. Severus loathed himself for his weakness to know that in a rare moment of deep Occlumination, he'd given in to the urge to let someone other than Albus and Poppy see the sacrifices he made for the sake of their safety. The girl was close with Potter, and already knew he was a Death Eater. He didn't have to hide it from her, and it might do some bloody good to have her be able to pass on to her friends that he suffered every time he went to the Dark Lord, rather than allowing them to think his loyalties were torn.

He should've sent her away. He should've screamed at her to get the hell out and he should've never let her touch him. But he hadn't. At first, the Occlumency making him distant and cold, Severus had hoped the girl might be able to help talk him back to his humanity – which he'd been in real danger of losing. She hadn't recoiled in terror at the sight of him in his mask, and she hadn't swooned or even balked at the sight of blood. As he'd hoped she might, she'd tried to help him.

Severus blinked his eyes open slowly, glaring at his cock where it jutted proudly despite the frigid water. The wretched thing was proud of itself. Fisting the appendage, Severus tried to will it to wilt. He shouldn't be standing in his morning shower with a hard dick, reliving memories of fucking a student. He had enough sins to agonise over without adding this, and yet his cock was determined to remind him.

He loathed that she'd been so warm, and so willing. He hadn't expected that. He'd sensed her wariness in cleaning him up and healing him. He'd known he made her nervous as he watched her, allowing her to undress him and to bathe his skin of blood. He'd never dreamed she'd peel him out of his trousers to heal his thigh, and he'd certainly never expected her to look at him so hotly as she realised she was touching him so intimately.

He could think of a million excuses for his actions. He'd been in pain. He'd been tortured at the meeting. He'd needed to regain and reaffirm his humanity. He'd been drinking. He'd been lonely and horny and fucking pathetic. She'd been there, and she'd been the one to say she didn't want to go.

All were true, all were valid, and all were still not fucking good enough to explain why he'd done what he did. He hadn't expected her to suck his cock. He'd thought  _maybe_  the little witch might try to kiss his lips and touch his skin, before balking and shying away. He should've known better than to doubt the nerve of a Gryffindor. She'd eagerly sucked him off and Severus couldn't remember the last time a witch had willingly and so enthusiastically lavished him with such attention. He couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed it.

Yet, Miss Granger had done so. She'd even protested having to stop before she was finished, and he smirked just a little, his hand beginning to smooth along the length of his shaft, the other twisting the hot-tap on since the cold wasn't cooling his ardour.

Severus shook his head to himself, closing his eyes and recalling the wet heat of her mouth, before recalling the sweet taste of her when he'd returned the favour. Circe's cunt, he was in over his head and he didn't know what to do about it. He wasn't concerned she would tell anyone, and he wasn't worried about being manipulated for better grades or kinder treatment. But this couldn't be allowed to continue, unaddressed. Not that his cock, or his hand, seemed to care much for his stern resolution.

He cursed when heat scalded down his back and shot up from his toes, all of it converging and squirting from the end of his cock. The spray of the shower washed it away and he wondered how in the hell he was supposed to get through the day when he'd have to face the witch in short order. He would be teaching the sixth years in Potions today, much to his displeasure thanks to an untimely illness of Horace's, and he had them again after lunch for Defence. Severus very much wanted to Avada himself at the thought.

How was he to teach her now? He'd never fucked a student. He rarely even fucked people he ever had to see or speak to again. How was he to sternly command Miss Granger and her peers to focus on their lessons when he knew what her cunt tasted like? How was he to sit at his desk in the Potions classroom without recalling the feel of her writhing in his lap, impaled upon his cock and squeezing him inside her velvet heat?

Oh, he could do it. He was a skilled Occlumens and used to feigning emotions and expressions for the sake of a role. Hell, he often did it in class, refraining from killing the hapless dunderheads under his tutelage, but he'd never done it for the sake of remaining stoic in the face of having fucked someone he ought not to have fucked. Gritting his teeth, Severus got on with his shower, washing his hair and his skin thoroughly to ensure no trace of blood or Miss Granger's essence remained. He would never be able to look her in the eye if he could still taste her on his tongue, and right now, he could.

Scowling, Severus found his already surly demeanour worsening by the second as he prepared for the day, certain he was being mocked by whatever deity seemed to intent of royally fucking him over at every turn. He slammed the door to his quarters and he docked twenty house points, put three students in detention, and threatened another into wetting her pants all before breakfast.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered as they made their way toward Charms right after breakfast that morning. "Might be best to skip Potions and Defence today. Snape's in fine form."

Harry was nodding before Hermione could even open her mouth.

"You can't just skip two lessons for the day just because you're afraid of Professor Snape's temper," she chided.

"Hermione, he just made a seventh-year cry," Ron pointed out. "It's not fear. It's a strong sense of self-preservation. You know he hates us more than he hates most of the students."

"He doesn't," Hermione insisted. "He probably doesn't even spare us a thought. You're imagining yourself entirely too special, Ronald."

"Hermione, he goes out of his way to make my life miserable," Harry reminded her.

"You can't skip two lessons in one day," she insisted.

"I'm not going," Harry told her. "I don't have a death wish, and I don't know what flew up his arse, but it's obviously toxic. I'm not going near the greasy git."

Hermione winced.

"Maybe we'll go, if you figure out a way to siphon some of your cheerfulness into him," Ron said blithely. "You're practically bouncing you're in such a good mood."

"Yeah, why are you so cheerful, Hermione?" Harry wanted to know.

"We have a test today," Hermione said brightly, grinning. She knew she was entirely too perky today, but she couldn't help it. She'd never slept so well, and one of her fantasies had become a glorious reality last night. She didn't think anything would dampen her spirits today. Not even Snape's positively wretched mood.

Apparently, he wasn't as thrilled over their interactions the previous evening as her. Hermione didn't let the thought bother her. She'd never deluded herself to think he might like her as a person. She'd never imagined she'd get to shag him, either. But that wasn't the point. She refused to let his being a foul-tempered git infect her happiness.

"You're twisted, you know that?" Ron laughed. "Excited about a test? Really?"

"As opposed to being excited for Quidditch practice?" Hermione scoffed in return.

"Quidditch  _is_  exciting," Harry assured her. "What've we got a test for, anyway?"

"Defence," Hermione grinned. "So, if you skip the class, you'll be in  _big_  trouble."

Harry and Ron both groaned before following her into Charms.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

The wretched girl was positively brimming with cheerfulness, Severus noted with disgust as she bounced into Potions with her bag over her shoulder. Everyone in the room had obviously witnessed his foul mood at breakfast, and they all fell silent on their approach to the door into his classroom. Sombre and wary expressions were worn by all, except Miss Granger.

Severus opened his mouth, intent on berating her for being too perky, before he realised something. Using Legilimency, he was already eavesdropping on her thoughts and had she been thinking simpering, stupid thoughts or fondly recalling last night he'd planned on giving her detention on the spot or even throwing her out of class. Only, she wasn't thinking about last night at all. She wasn't thinking about him, or what he'd done to her at this very desk.

She was reciting information about her Charms lesson and making mental notes on the homework she'd been given and the sources she would need to complete them. Severus narrowed his eyes on her hatefully. He didn't know if he should be relieved or insulted that she hadn't spared him, or the scene of their crime, a single thought.

Was she such a trollop that she thought nothing of being fucked senseless? Did she so often seduce wizards that she barely registered their efforts? She'd been responsive enough during their encounter, and she'd admitted experience, but he'd been able to tell from her wariness and her nervousness that she hadn't been with many wizards, no matter his unkind musings.

Perhaps she'd noted his foul mood, known he would be using Legilimency, and was purposely thinking about anything other than what they'd done. No, that was likely giving her too much credit.

He waited impatiently for the rest of the students to arrive, watching with narrowed eyes as Weasley and Potter skulked behind Granger and over to one of the desks in the back of the room as though that might keep them from drawing his ire. Severus almost sneered, thinking about splitting them up just to annoy them. He wouldn't mind stripping Gryffindor of another hundred points and he already had enough little bastards lined up for detention tonight that two more wouldn't hurt.

But he bit back the urge, knowing it would be unwise to draw unnecessary attention to them or to Miss Granger, who was foolishly displaying that unlike everyone else, she wasn't afraid of catching his temper this morning.

And she wasn't. She hadn't spared it a thought. He watched out the corner of his eye as she set down her book bag and folded her hands neatly on the table, awaiting instruction to see if this would be a theory or a practical lesson. Smart girl. He watched some of the others hopefully pull out their books, none of them liking the idea of drawing his ire with pathetic brewing attempts. A cruel smile curled his lips and toward the front of the room the Abbott girl whimpered in terror.

"Today you'll all be brewing  _Felix Felicius_ ," he informed them. "The instructions are on the board."

He flicked his wand, listening to groans and gasps of horror to have been given the most finnicky and complicated potion on their brewing list for the year.

"Retrieve what you require from the store room. Begin immediately. All of you are impossibly stupid and should not have been accepted into the NEWT level class. As such, I expect more than one of you will suffer the amputation of an appendage today thanks to your ineptitude."

Mutters and loathing filled the room, but no one dared contradict him. Not even Miss Granger, though she levelled him a defiant look at the assertion that there wasn't a single NEWT student who deserved the right to continue the study of Potions beyond the OWL.

"Be warned that you will be given two chances to get it right. The second attempt – after you inevitably destroy the first attempt – will be tested on each of you. You  _will_ ingest whatever you have created before the end of the lesson, so unless you all wish to spend your lunch break spilling your pumpkin juice and choking on every bite, ensure that you get the potion correct, or endure the bad luck that will follow."

Suitably terrified, the students all scrambled for the cupboard, intent on ensuring they got the best ingredients and equipment to better their chances. He watched with some amusement when Potter and Malfoy wrestled for a jar of shrivel-figs, and laughed cruelly when Parkinson snatched everything from Abbott, making the girl cry with a swift kick to the shins.

Several minutes later, Severus narrowed his eyes when an argument broke out in the storeroom. Before he could stalk across the room to investigate, Miss Granger stomped out.

"Honestly, you're all a bunch of bloody cowards," she chastised over her shoulder, berating her fellow Gryffindors and a few Hufflepuffs.

Severus glared hatefully as she stomped right up to him.

"Professor Snape, the store of Silver Wings has been completely depleted," she informed him briskly, holding his gaze and raising her chin, completely focused on her request, rather than any memory of riding his cock. "Are there more in the other storerooms?"

She didn't even flinch when he curled his lip and the rest of the class held their breath, waiting for him to explode at her.

"Check the back-storage room," he sneered coolly.

She nodded sharply once, stepping around him and crossing the floor. Severus watched her, waiting for her to encounter the hexes and locking charms he put on the back-storage cupboard to ensure no thieving little brats raided it. He narrowed his eyes when she pulled her wand from her pocket and gave it a familiar-looking little twist and jab – Severus's usual disabling and unlocking charm. Without a moment's hesitation she twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door.

He hated himself for recalling the feel of her hot little hand gripping his cock just like that. Before he could think of some sneering way to punish her for knowing how to access his stores, she disappeared, only to remerge a moment later, slamming the door behind her and dashing across the room.

"Peeves is in there," she informed him, stopping directly in front of him and, dare he say, looking slightly frightened.

A loud raspberry, followed by the sound of breaking glass and toppling shelves rent the air and the class went dead silent.

"PEEVES!" Severus snarled, pushing past Miss Granger and crossing to the door. He flung it open so hard the wood splintered and the poltergeist inside paused in his destruction to stare at him wide-eyed.

"Professor Snape!" he exclaimed, his eyes going wide with terror. Severus realised the ghostly menace had assumed Horace was teaching the class today.

Before he could zoom away, Severus cursed him. Twisting him wand like a corkscrew, he picked up the nearest empty specimen jar and sucked the poltergeist into it like he were a genie. Peeves screamed as he was cramped into the tiny confined space, the curse Severus had used managing to lock him in and preventing his escape.

"Oh, wow," Miss Granger's voice came from immediately behind him, apparently having followed him to the storeroom to investigate the screaming poltergeist.

Severus closed his eyes against the memory of her breathy little "ohs" from last night, twisting the lid on to the jar and trapping the poltergeist inside.

"I've never seen anyone trap a non-corporeal being like that, sir," Granger was saying while Severus narrowed his eyes on the damage the poltergeist had done to the storeroom. He flicked his wand again, repairing the broken jars and righting the shelves. Nothing could be done to salvage the destroyed and contaminated potion ingredients.

"Miss Granger?" Severus said, finally speaking and very much aware that the entire class was listening, awaiting his reaction to such destruction.

"Yes, sir?" Granger asked, obviously unaware that she was about to land in extremely hot water.

"Tell me," he said, his voice lowering to a silken purr. "How do you imagine Peeves managed to penetrate my heavily warded storeroom?"

He turned toward her slowly, listening to the muffled screaming of the poltergeist trapped inside the jar. When he narrowed cold eyes on Miss Granger, knowing  _exactly_  who was responsible for having incorrectly warded the room against invasion by non-corporeals, she gulped. Ah, so she  _had_  been raiding his storeroom last night when she'd been in here brewing.

"Erm," she managed inarticulately.

"Detention, Miss Granger," he snarled at her. "For the wilful sabotage of school wards, and the theft of ingredients."

"You don't know it was her!" Potter's voice protested from the back and Severus watched Granger close her eyes in horror.

"Mr Potter,  _you_  will serve a month's detention and miss Quidditch practice for that entire time for your insolence."

"But…" Potter began hotly before Granger's wand arm twitched, using a Silencing charm on the boy.

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered, lowering her gaze deferentially.

"Snivelling apologies will not replace hundreds of Galleons worth of rare and expensive Potions ingredients, Miss Granger. You will also be serving a month's detention, in addition to costing Gryffindor fifty house points."

She didn't argue, though he almost hoped she would.

"Yes, sir," she murmured.

"How does he know it was her?" Parkinson whispered to Malfoy, apparently confused.

"Collect the Silver Wings from the storeroom and commence brewing, Miss Granger," Severus instructed coldly.

She nodded, stepping around him and entering the storeroom once more – a muttered Vanishing charm cleaning the mess on the floor. He heard her sigh very softly.

"Professor Snape?" she asked quietly, and Severus waited, his back to her, his eyes dancing over the rest of the class and assessing their reactions while the poltergeist in the jar continued to scream. "The Silver Wings in storage here were destroyed, sir."

Severus curled his lip.

"I trust you know the way to the cupboards down the hall?" he asked without looking at her. "Be warned, if they are similarly destroyed because of your carelessness, Miss Granger, you will spend the entire  _year_  in detention."

"Yes, sir," she murmured again, walking quickly as she crossed from the storage room behind his desk and made for the door, intent on fetching what was needed.

"Bring Acromantula Venom back with you, Miss Granger," Severus said before she could slip out the classroom door. "I'm certain at least one of you will need it before the class ends. Back to work!"

She nodded, refusing to look at him. The rest of the class jumped to attention, returning their focus to the potion at hand. Severus smirked, watching Potter continue trying to argue with him over Granger's guilt, his mouth moving while no words escaped thanks to the Silencing charm. In no mood to listen to the furious twat arguing with him further, Severus refrained from lifting the charm as he set the jar filled with Peeves on the corner of his desk, ignoring the continued screams interspersed with tapping upon the glass as the poltergeist tried to draw his attention to let him out. Severus smirked cruelly, watching and waiting for Miss Granger to return while many of the students began the difficult task of brewing  _Felix Felicius_. None of them seemed to comprehend how much luck was already on their side that they were managing to avoid drawing his ire.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Hermione held her breath as she entered the store cupboard down the hall from Snape's classroom. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten to ward the one in the classroom against ghosts – knowing that Peeves had a nasty habit of creating mayhem everywhere he went. She'd been so stupid and so distracted, and her cheeks were burning to think that it was entirely because when she'd been in there last night looking for ingredients, she'd been too concerned with her daydreams about being trapped in there with Professor Snape. She'd been too caught up in fantasy of being ravished on the dingy, uneven floor in there by the dour Potions Master to even remember to re-layer all the wards he used to protect the store.

Mortified, and furious with herself for landing in so many detentions as a result, Hermione peered into the cupboard in the hall, relieved to see that this one, she'd remembered to properly ward. Or maybe Peeves just hadn't gotten to it yet, because it wasn't in a mess. Hurrying inside, knowing she wouldn't get any extra time to work on her potion assignment for the day's lesson just because she was dawdling, Hermione collected a few jars of Silver Wings and the small phial of Acromantula Venom that Professor Snape had asked for.

She was just about to leave the room again when she spied a small phial glittering on one of the top shelves and Hermione's stomach flipped. Essence of Ergot. An essential ingredient for the world's strongest contraceptive potion to be ingested after coitus had taken place. Hermione blinked before looking toward the exit and back at the phial. She was going to need something contraceptive, and soon, if she didn't want to end up pregnant in her sixth year with her Professor's baby.

Actually, she was surprised he hadn't already suggested or mentioned it. He really must've been lost in his Death Eater persona last night. Hermione frowned, wondering if that meant she'd taken advantage of him or if it just meant she'd gotten to shag Severus Snape, Death Eater; not Severus Snape, Hogwarts Professor. She didn't for a second doubt that he kept the two sides of his life separated. She'd seen it in the wicked and sensual way he'd looked at her last night and felt it in the way he'd touched her.

No, the Hogwarts professor she'd just been berated by was nothing like the man she'd healed and shagged last night. Frowning to herself, Hermione summoned the phial from the top shelf and pocketed it, making a mental note to find a safe place tonight to brew the contraceptive potion – the wizarding equivalent of a morning-after pill. She could've gone to the Hospital Wing and asked for one that Madam Pomfrey already had in storage, but she knew from Lavender's simpering that being allowed one came at the price of a pap smear and having to reveal whomever you were intimate with for the sake of him being checked over as well. Apparently underage sex could result in magical depletion and while the files were kept private, any student who'd been canoodling and needed one of the potions had to reveal the identity of their accomplice.

Hermione got the feeling that it would be a very bad thing indeed for her to go to Madam Pomfrey for one. She could just imagine the woman's face if she said she'd shagged Professor Snape. Yeah, that would go down well. Rolling her eyes to herself, Hermione resolved to do it the hard way and brew it herself. Of course, the brewing might have to wait until after her detention. She shook her head to herself, furious that he'd given her detention just because he was mentally berating himself for having shagged a student.

She tried her best to clear her mind on the way back into the classroom, knowing the man would be listening to her thoughts, trying to make sure she wasn't entertaining notions of another round with him. The last thing she needed was to bring more of his foul mood down on herself because he was furious that he'd fucked her.

When she entered the classroom, Hermione walked purposefully to Snape and waited for him to turn to her, since he was in the process of breathing down Parvati's neck about the consistency of her Liquid Luck even though they'd barely begun. His eyes were cold when they snapped over to clash with hers and Hermione fought the urge she had to step backward in fear. She also fought the urge to close her eyes when it occurred to her that she'd been less fearful of him in full Death Eater garb than she was right then in his teaching robes.

She knew he heard the thought because he narrowed his eyes hatefully. Hermione held out the Acromantula Venom silently, praying he wouldn't address her wayward thoughts.

"Did you ward the cupboard?" he asked, his voice silky.

Hermione shivered involuntarily even as she nodded. He narrowed his eyes, undoubtedly planning to check the storeroom himself just as soon as he didn't need to micromanage inept potioneers attempting one of the trickiest potions in the world. Hermione made to turn away, intent on getting on with her own brewing of the complicated potion but before she could take more than one step his large, cold hand closed around her wrist and pulled her to a stop.

Hermione closed her eyes, her mind jumping to last night when he'd grabbed her before she could touch his Death Eater mask, standing there at his desk practically naked.

"Sir?" she asked, turning back toward him and trying desperately not to tremble. She tried to squash down the inappropriate memories that surfaced.

He held his hand out expectantly.

Hermione frowned at his palm before looking back at his eyes – so impossibly dark and alluring – and letting him see her confusion. She made to hand him the jar of Silver Wings, but he raised a single eyebrow in silent challenge and Hermione curled in on herself.

He  _knew_.

Of course, he knew. He'd probably been using Legilimency on her the entire time she'd been gone from the room. Gulping, Hermione's cheeks flushed crimson before she glanced around surreptitiously, not wanting anyone to see what she'd tried to steal. He snapped his fingers once, silently demanding she get a move on and Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin. No one was looking at them. Everyone was too absorbed in their own potion to worry about what she was doing.

Sticking her hand into her pocket, Hermione fished out the ergot phial and slipped it into his waiting hand, purposely letting her fingers brush his as she did so. He darted a glance at the phial, confirming what it was, before closing his fist around it and depositing it into his own pocket. He glared at her and Hermione got the feeling that when she stayed behind to arrange her detentions with him, she would be in even more trouble for trying to pilfer more ingredients that didn't belong to her.

He released her wrist as suddenly as he'd grabbed it, dropping it like he'd been scalded, and Hermione stumbled back a step, paling a little in fear when he curled his lip at her hatefully. Scampering away from him, Hermione returned to her work station, where Harry or Ron had been kind enough to set up her cauldron and her brewing station so she'd be able to dive right into brewing.

"Are you alright?" Harry muttered to her, obviously too concerned about her to worry about her having hit him with a Silence charm earlier to protect him from further drawing Snape's rage.

"I'm fine," Hermione nodded, despite the way her hands were shaking.

She didn't dare look at Snape again, and her mind was immediately consumed by the focus needed for the potion they were working on, so she avoided thinking about what they'd done almost the entire period.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Severus prowled through the room breathing down the necks of his students as they flailed helplessly, their attempts to brew Felix Felicius positively pitiful. He prowled behind Potter's cauldron and narrowed his eyes when he noticed the boy was doing well, for once. When he passed Weasley's cauldron he glared down his nose, watching the redhead cringe, obviously knowing that though his potion should by now be as clear as fresh water, the milky consistency was not acceptable. He had already fudged his first attempt and had to vanish it, so he would be forced to drink whatever he'd cooked up.

Severus was looking forward to watching the bad luck that would befall the boy for the hours following this class. Stalking silently, he crept up behind Miss Granger next, burning with the urge to find fault with her potion. He knew he could make her nervous if he stood directly behind her and Severus couldn't resist. It wasn't unusual. He often did this to her during lessons, both Potions and Defence, because it was the best way to unsettle her. She always second-guessed herself when he was standing there, judging her.

He narrowed his eyes as he peered over her shoulder and into her cauldron, ignoring the faintest vanilla scent that seemed to cling to her hair. She hadn't second-guessed herself last night under his scrutiny when she'd had her mouth wrapped around his cock, he recalled. Maybe she was able to differentiate between him as a teacher and a Death Eater.

He almost smirked when he saw that while her potion was almost perfect, it was just the faintest bit off.

"You will not enjoy drinking this potion at the end of the lesson, Miss Granger," he informed her, speaking almost directly into her ear. She almost jumped out of her skin, apparently too focused to have realised he was behind her.

"What's wrong with it, sir?" she asked in a low voice.

Severus smirked.

"You used one too many drops of Murtlap essence," he informed her. "It shouldn't have an odour, but your does."

She drew a deep breath in through her nose and Severus cursed himself for standing so close when doing so caused her back to brush against his chest. He loathed the way his body remembered the warmth of her skin even through that faint contact.

"I can't smell anything," she protested.

"And that is why you will not enjoy your afternoon," he sneered. "Remain after class to arrange your detention."

He stalked away before he had to endure any more of her wretched scent, scowling down his nose at Parkinson's potion when the girl stepped back, letting him see what she'd created. He narrowed his eyes on the potion and the pug-nosed witch paled, realising instantly that she'd made an error.

"Too much hellebore, Miss Parkinson," he informed her when she peered into the cauldron, obviously trying to figure out what she'd done wrong.

He prowled throughout the rest of the classroom, eyeing Abbott's pitiful attempt at the brew and shaking his head in disgust. She began to cry once more, and Severus smirked just a little bit. He'd always prided himself on his ability to make others cry without needing to say a word.

When the lesson had five minutes remaining, Severus called them all to a stop.

"Rather than collecting a sample of your potion for examination today, you will simply demonstrate the effects by ingesting what you've created," he informed them.

"Professor Snape?" Granger interrupted when everyone was groaning and obviously terrified. "Begging you pardon, sir, but isn't it against school rules to force us to ingest these potions? Especially when you've indicated we'll be having a test in this afternoon's Defence lesson? The use of Liquid Luck is against wizarding law for any magical test, sporting game, or other competitive activity."

Everyone went dead silent, holding their breath as they waited for him to crucify the witch for her audacity.

"Do you imagine anyone in this room has actually managed to brew anything that would even passingly be considered Liquid Luck, Miss Granger?"

"Perhaps," she retorted, narrowing her eyes. "But should we all have failed – some more spectacularly than others – the effects of the spoiled potion would incur the opposite of Luck. It would be just as immoral and unsporting to force Bad Luck potions on all of us prior to a test, sir. Moreover, the extent of the bad luck incurred by some would endanger their lives. I'm sure you wouldn't actually seek to endanger the lives of those under your care, Professor Snape."

Severus curled his lip, his anger bubbling. He levelled her his coldest, most hateful look – the one he usually only reserved for Wormtail – and she stared back defiantly, certain she was right.

"I doubt you've even an  _inkling_  of what I'd seek to do to those under my care, Miss Granger," he replied coldly and everyone was silent. She narrowed her eyes on him, getting the message loud and clear that she'd might've thought he'd never have fucked a student under his care, too, but last night he'd fucked her.

She opened her mouth like she might argue further but Severus narrowed his on her.

"Unless you wish to be subjected to the most pitiful attempt at today's potion – courtesy of Miss Abbott – rather than your own potion, you will hold your tongue on any further protests, Miss Granger," he warned her silkily and her mouth snapped shut.

Severus smirked cruelly.

"All of you will ingest a single mouthful of your potions – which ought to wear off right as lunch ends, thereby negating the effects  _before_  this afternoon's Defence lesson. As Miss Granger has showed her eagerness, she will go first," he instructed.

She narrowed her eyes on him hatefully and Severus caught the flash of the thought in her mind that said she ought to have let him bleed out last night, rather than healing him. He stared her down, silently agreeing. She huffed angrily before dipping a phial into the potion she'd brewed and lifting it to her lips. Her friends all held their breath and Severus's smirk widened when the scent she'd claimed she couldn't smell hit her nose just as the first drop touched her tongue.

She gagged before gritting her teeth when the Slytherin students laughed uncharitably. Pinching her nose, she gulped down the rest looking like she was swallowing acid – which she might as well have been. When it was all gone she dropped the phial and wiped her mouth, clamping her hand over it and trying desperately to keep her breakfast down.

"Miss Abbott, you next," Severus smirked. The sobbing girl's hands were trembling as she did as instructed without protest. The minute she'd finished the potion she fell off her stool and managed to tip her cauldron over, splashing her peers, coating her things, and spilling a good deal of it on herself.

More laughter sounded from his Slytherins.

"Miss Parkinson, you next," Severus said.

Pansy was frowning as she did as she'd been told. She coughed as she finished the mouthful, before blinking at him and grinning stupidly like she was drunk. Severus shook his head and continued watching the students all ingest their potions. Many of them would endure terrible bad luck all through lunch and he hadn't been in higher spirits in a good long while. When the final student – Mr Weasley – had drunk his potion, and turned a terrible shade of green before vomiting into his cauldron, Severus dismissed them.

Potter and Granger both waited while the others all tripped and fell and cursed over splitting book bags as they tried to hurry from his presence. Potter was glaring at him defiantly and Granger was still trying to keep from gagging, having fished a water bottle from her bag that she was gargling, trying to rinse the foul taste from her mouth.

"Potter, you will serve your detentions with Mr Filch. Report to him nightly at eight o'clock for further instructions," Severus hissed at the wretched boy who looked so much like his past enemy.

The brat curled his lip like he might argue, but Granger pinched him before he could. Potter nodded with a sharp jerk and Severus glared at him, waiting for him to leave. He didn't. He glared back defiantly, refusing to leave his friend alone.

"If you don't get out of this room in the next thirty seconds, Mr Potter, you will spend the entire year in detention. Is that clear?" he snarled at the boy.

The defiant little shit continued to glare and refused to move until Granger pinched him.

"Go, Harry," she muttered. "I'll be fine. Don't make this worse for both of us."

"You have no proof that it was Hermione's fault Peeves got into the storeroom," Potter said, always forgetting his manners and refusing to call him 'sir'.

Severus curled his lip, intent on ripping the boy a new one but Granger beat him to it.

"Yes, he does, Harry," she said. "I didn't get the Bruise Salve finished last night because Professor Snape caught me in here. He knows I was raiding the storeroom. Just go, would you? Please?"

Severus narrowed his eyes on the girl, loathing the way his stomach flipped with fear that she might mention just what he'd done when he'd caught her in the classroom. She didn't, and Potter glanced at her before frowning and nodding.

"We'll wait for you outside," he said.

"Go to lunch," Hermione told him. "Ron needs something in his stomach after drinking his potion. I'll be fine."

Potter looked doubtful, shooting another hateful look at Severus before picking up his bag and leaving the room without another word. Severus glared down his nose at Miss Granger when the girl met his gaze. She was distinctly less cheerful now, looking weary, rather than chipper.

She didn't dare speak, he noticed, and Severus held her gaze for a long time, loathing himself for the warring disgust and desire he felt as he looked at her.

"What time should I report for my detentions, Professor?" she asked quietly when he didn't speak, unable to find his tongue when every time he tried, he could taste her once again.

"You imagine you will be reporting directly to me for your detentions?" he asked, raising ne eyebrow.

"You want me to re-stock the storeroom, don't you?" she asked, never looking away from his eyes. "I'm responsible for their destruction, after all, and they  _do_  need to be replenished. Unless you'd prefer me doing something else, sir?"

Severus narrowed his eyes before diving into her mind, not trusting the conniving little bitch not to be offering herself to him as a means of serving detention. She didn't resist the invasion, letting him see she only meant that she could help with marking for his classes, or do whatever other, menial task he could think up to punish her.

"Are you aware that use of this ingredient in an uncontrolled environment could kill you, Miss Granger?" he demanded quietly, fishing the phial of Ergot Essence from his pocket – the one she'd tried to steal.

"Yes, sir," she nodded, looking wary now.

"What might possess you to steal more ingredients from my stores, Miss Granger? Especially such a dangerous one?" he asked, goading her, suddenly needing to hear her address what they'd done.

She stared at him, her cinnamon eyes dancing over his face, obviously searching for the trap in his words – trying to find the reason for his question.

"I think you know, sir," she said quietly. "I... I'm not on contraceptives right now… I wasn't on them last night."

Severus narrowed his eyes on her.

"How old are you, Miss Granger?" he demanded.

She frowned.

"I turned seventeen in September, sir," she said softly.

Severus breathed out a slow sigh of relief that though she was still a student, at least she wasn't a minor.

"Why aren't you on contraceptives?" he demanded, frowning.

Her eyes widened slightly, and she glanced over her shoulder toward the classroom door, as though fearing they might be overheard.

"The door is warded against eavesdropping," he said.

"Oh. Good. Um… they don't… uh… that is to say… when I tried them in the past they… er…."

"Spit it out!" Severus hissed at her.

Her cheeks flushed crimson and Severus marvelled at the thought that she could suck his cock without blushing, but discussing the effect of a contraceptive on her body was apparently impossible.

"The contraceptive potions I tried interfered with my menstrual cycle," she informed him bitterly, cheeks glowing. "The first one I tried made me too nauseous to eat anything and while that was spectacular for my waistline, people started asking questions when I couldn't stomach anything. The second one I tried made it so that I spent nineteen days of every month bleeding, rather than just five – which made me anaemic – and so I stopped taking that one. The third made me put on so much weight in such a short period of time that Harry asked me if I'd been attacked by a Blast Ended Skrewt because I looked like I'd been stung all over. After that, I wasn't having sex anymore anyway, so I stopped worrying about taking anything."

"And you thought  _this_  would be wise?" he held up the phial.

"The potion I had in mind for it doesn't have any negative effects on my system because it's usually a once-off dosage," she admitted, lifting her eyes to his once more and Severus realised she'd intended to make it for the sake of purging her body of whatever he might've planted in her.

He narrowed his eyes on her, having assumed that she would simply be on contraceptives and so not having given the risk of pregnancy a thought.

"Brewing that is extremely tricky, Miss Granger," he informed her.

"Yeah, well I can hardly go to Madam Pomfrey for one that's already brewed, can I? I'd rather not be forced to endure a pap smear from the witch and I don't imagine it would be in anyone's best interests for me to be forced to reveal who I'd been intimate with."

Severus blanched at the very idea.

"You didn't think to simply ask me for one?" he raised his eyebrows. "I stock the Hospital Wing."

"When might I have asked you, sir?" she hissed, her eyes flashing. "When you were chiding me about breaches of the dress code last night? Or maybe this morning at breakfast when you were making seventh-year boys cry because you're in such a foul mood? Maybe I should've asked in class just now, when Harry and Ron, and all the rest of the students could listen in and wonder if I was asking you because I fucked you?"

Severus blinked, shocked by her foul language and the venom in her voice. He'd never heard her swear, least of all at a teacher and he'd have smirked over it if not for the fury glittering in her eyes.

"You knew you would be seeing me after class to arrange your detention. You could have asked now, rather than stealing the ingredients yourself," he pointed out.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she snapped. "Was I supposed to assume it would be alright to acknowledge that you and I had sex when you've been a right bloody dragon spewing fire over everyone in sight all morning because you're furious with yourself? I was just supposed to  _know_  you'd want me to mention it when you're throwing a tantrum over the entire thing?"

"Did you imagine attempting the potion yourself, and likely failing, would be preferable?" he sneered. "Your fear of my current temper is but a pittance in comparison to my mood should you fall pregnant as a result of your cowardice, Miss Granger."

"My cowardice?" she hissed, leaping to her feet and glaring at him. "You're the one throwing a tantrum,  _Professor_. There is nothing cowardly about preferring to get myself out of trouble than risking the ridicule I'd face at asking for your help. You are spiteful, and mean, and a downright bastard, and you can take all the house points you want over it, because it's the bloody truth! If I'd come to you this morning like some snivelling first year confused over her first period, you'd have been positively brutal in your attack on me over what I don't doubt you'd deem to be my stupidity for not being on contraceptives before knowingly engaging in sexual activity. You'd have snarled like a mongrel dog trying to warn me away lest the rest of the world figure out you fucked me, and you'd have pounced like a tiger for the throat when I admitted the 'fault' of not being on contraceptives to begin with. You'd have refused to listen to reason and you'd have all but told me to fuck off, likely imagining me some stupid and clingy little swot all hung up over one little fuck. Wanting to avoid all that when there is a viable alternative isn't cowardice, sir. It's just common sense."

She stomped her foot of emphasis and Severus glared at her, wondering when she'd come to know him well enough to figure out how he'd likely have reacted had she tried to speak with him this morning in any capacity other than that of teacher and student. He narrowed his eyes, recalling that it had been her to say she didn't want to go last night, when he'd tried to send her on her way before he could fuck her.

Merlin's nads, she wasn't  _interested_  in him, was she?

"You are out of line, Miss Granger," he warned her sternly, refusing to dock points despite being called a bastard because it was what she expected and probably what she wanted.

"Oh, am I?" she snapped. "How awful. It's out of line to back-talk you or call you out on being a git, but it's not out of line to suck your cock, is that it?"

Severus curled his lip and lunged for her before he could think better of it. She stilled instantly when his hand closed threateningly around her throat, his eyes glittering with hatred as he glared down his nose at her. He had to give her credit; when she was riled up, she was utterly fearless. She didn't back down or look away, glaring at him from mere inches away, toe to toe with him despite the hand wrapped around her throat. Severus wondered if she trusted him so very much as to doubt he would hurt her, or if she was simply foolish and reckless enough to push him to violence, just the same.

"Enough!" he hissed at her, lowering his voice to a silken purr that he usually reserved only for sweet-talking the Dark Lord into seeing things his way.

She shivered in his hold and Severus hated that he poignantly recalled the way she'd quivered and shuddered under his tongue, too.

"Last night was a foolish mistake," he informed her coolly. "One that will never be repeated, and one that we will not discuss in any further detail with  _anyone_. Is that clear?"

She narrowed her eyes on him before nodding jerkily.

"You will drink this," he fished a phial of abortifacient potion from his pocket. "You will  _not_  continue to break into my storerooms to help yourself to whatever you want, and you will report to my office this evening at eight o'clock to begin replenishing the stores of ingredients that were destroyed today as a result of your carelessness. Was the storeroom down the hall similarly destroyed?"

"No, sir," she answered.

"You didn't raid that one, then?" he asked. "Or you were simply less distracted whilst in that one?"

She tried to look away then and Severus narrowed his eyes, penetrating her mind once more. He recoiled, dropping his hold on her throat and stepping back when he encountered what appeared to be an extremely erotic daydream of being ravished on the stone floor of the storeroom. She looked down at her feet, her cheeks crimson and Severus's brow furrowed in confusion, shocked by the daydream and confused by her reaction.

She… did she  _often_  entertain fantasies that starred him?

"You would do well to learn how to shield your mind, Miss Granger," he said sternly.

"You would do well to refrain from invading the minds of those around you without invitation or permission, sir," she retorted.

Severus narrowed his eyes on her. "You would also do well to remember to speak to me like I am still your teacher, Miss Granger," he warned. "Last night's actions do not negate the fact that I am a teacher and you are a student."

"Yes, sir," she whispered, lowering her head deferentially once more, as though she'd never been anything but a dutiful student who hadn't shagged her teacher or called him a bastard.

Furious with her all over again, Severus clenched one of his fists.

"Get out of my sight," he snapped coldly, unable to stand the sight of her any longer.

She nodded, refusing to lift her eyes to his before she turned and hurried back to her desk to collect her things. Severus watched her go, hating the way his mind replayed snippets of last night's encounter, now interspersed with memories of her daydream.

"Miss Granger," he called quietly before she could hurry out the door once she'd slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Yes, sir?" she stopped, not turning, apparently too mortified to meet his gaze.

"You were in the store-room  _before_  I returned last night…" he said leadingly, realising with a jolt that she'd forgotten to ward it properly after daydreaming about him in there before he'd returned and fucked her senseless on his desk.

"Yes, sir," she agreed, turning and frowning at him, obviously not yet understanding his point.

"And it was  _you_  who refused to leave when I suggested it," he pointed out, his eyes scanning her face. "Do you often fantasize about me doing inappropriate things to you, Miss Granger? Or was last night an exception?"

She went red again, her eyes widening in shock at his blunt question.

"I…You… we agreed that there would be no further discussion of last night, sir," she stammered, obviously unwilling to admit anything further that might incriminate her.

Severus might've laughed at her pitiful attempts to hide the truth from him if he weren't so surprised. She darted a look at him, obviously wanting to leave but knowing better than to flee without being dismissed.

"Very well," he bit out, narrowing his eyes on her once more. She turned and fled the room before he could call her back again, running full-tilt down the hall with her bag swinging and her skirt flying. Severus shook his head as he watched her go, making a mental note that during her detention that evening, it might be prudent to perform a diagnostic charm over her to ensure she wasn't under the effect of some Dark Curse or Potion. No teenage witch in her right mind who didn't have ulterior motives would ever fantasize about him, so he could only conclude that the girl must not be in her right mind.

He scowled as he turned away to clear up the room before he could head to lunch, discovering that in her haste, she'd forgotten the abortifacient potion he'd tried to give her.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Hermione kept her head down for the rest of the day. In Snape's afternoon Defence class, she didn't raise her hand even once and she refused to make eye contact with the man. She couldn't bear the thought of having him know she'd been fantasising about him. Worse, she'd discussed her menstrual cycle with him as though he were her boyfriend and the thought returned colour to her cheeks often as the afternoon wore on.

Her cheerfulness from the morning was well and truly spent by the time she dragged herself down to the dungeons at eight o'clock for her detention and she'd managed to think herself into a right foul mood. Harry walked with her most of the way, and Hermione nodded along as he raged about Snape's unfairness and how he hoped he'd get out of some of his detentions by attending his meetings with Dumbledore. Already Professor McGonagall had vetoed Snape's insistence that Harry would miss Quidditch, citing the fact that he was captain, and that one small outburst did not warrant such harsh punishment. She'd also tried to rescue Hermione from Snape's foul mood by suggesting Hermione could serve her detentions with her, but Snape had refused to budge so much when he could exact free labour out of her to restock the storeroom.

"I'll see you later, Hermione," Harry told her. "Don't let him get to you, yeah?"

Hermione nodded.

"Try not to throttle Filch, alright?" she asked, smiling at him.

"No promises." Harry winked before he wandered off in the direction of Filch's office while Hermione continued toward the dungeons alone.

She was blushing again by the time she reached the door to Professor Snape's classroom, mortified to face him after all she'd said and a little terrified of how he might treat her. She couldn't forget the feel of his hand wrapped around her throat that morning and she couldn't forget that she'd called him a git and a bastard, and that she'd blurted embarrassing facts about her body to him. She was surprised he hadn't given her a million detentions for that, if she was being completely honest.

Pausing outside the classroom door, Hermione took a slow, deep breath in to steel her nerves before knocking. No answer sounded, but the door slowly creaked open and Hermione peered into the room, spying Professor Snape seated at his desk with a stack of papers in front of him and his hated red ink unstopped upon the desk. Hermione's lips twitched just a little bit at the idea that he was doing marking on a day like today and she could only hope he wasn't grading their tests from Defence because he would  _not_  be being charitable.

"Miss Granger," he drawled without looking up as he viciously slashed his quill across someone's essay.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," Hermione said politely, entering the room cautiously.

"Put down your things and get to work in the storeroom, Miss Granger," he commanded, still not looking at her.

"Yes, sir," she murmured, doing as she was told without complaint and really hoping he wasn't going to make her play with beetle's eyes or something equally disgusting.

Before she could enter the storeroom to see what awaited her, he looked up.

"Miss Granger?" he said quietly, and Hermione turned to look at him just as she was about to pass his desk.

"Yes, sir?" she asked.

She flinched when he held out a phial in her direction and Hermione blinked, realising it was the Morning-After potion he'd tried to give her earlier, before their disagreement and her subsequent mortification. Hermione reached for it, being very careful to keep from touching him as she took the thin phial from his hand.

"Thank you, sir," she whispered, unstoppering it and drinking it down immediately.

He watched her, his eyes glittering in the low torchlight, and Hermione shuddered at the dreadful flavour, but she didn't complain. He held his hand out to take the phial back when she was finished with it and Hermione handed it over, meeting his gaze briefly before looking at her feet once more. When he tucked the phial back into a pocket and turned his attention back to his marking, Hermione supposed that she'd been dismissed, and she continued into the storeroom without another word.

She sighed when she saw what awaited her. Three large crates of assorted ingredients from dead flobberworms to beetles that needed their eyes removed and a batch of what looked like petrified fairies that needed their wings removed before they needed to be stored in jars. Closing her eyes, and pulling her dragon hide gloves from her back pocket, Hermione got to work without complaint.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Severus was in the middle of marking Finnegan's Defence quiz when the searing pain shot up his arm and he hissed, gripping his Dark Mark tightly and gritting his teeth against the agony.

Oh, that didn't bode well.

"Professor?" Granger asked, hurrying out of the storeroom. Severus spun toward her in his chair, still gripping his forearm tightly, having almost forgotten she was still in there, sorting all the ingredients he'd given her.

Her eyes danced over his posture and the way his jaw was set against the intense pain running like a fiery breath up and down his arm, throbbing and aching in a way it hadn't since the Dark Lord's initial return. Severus met the young witch's gaze stoically, dragging his hand from his arm and pulling his Death Eater persona from the depths of his psyche, refusing to feel pain or to register any hint of humanity.

"Return to your dormitory, Granger," he bit out as he rose fluidly to his feet. He didn't look back to make sure she followed his instructions, flicking his wand to summon his mask and his robe from his quarters, donning them as he hurried from the room and down the corridor to the secret entrance Dumbledore had had installed to allow his ease of access to come and go as he needed. He was halfway across the grounds before Draco caught up with him, the young blond wizard jogging to keep up.

Severus barely spared the boy a glance, his arm throbbing too much to risk dilly-dallying. Draco was clutching his own arm in pain and when they reached the gates and slipped through them, Severus held out his wrist. His godson took it without a word, and Severus glanced at him only long enough to let the boy see how serious tonight's meeting must be if they were enduring such a painful summons – especially when there had been a meeting just the night before.

Draco paled considerably but nodded, accepting his fate and closing his eyes before Severus Disapparated them both with a sharp crack. They landed on the steps of Malfoy Manor and Draco reached for the doorknob to his family home with shaking hands. Severus gritted his teeth, more determined than ever to make the Dark Lord pay for terrifying a boy so much that he feared entering his own home.

The Manor was silent as they crossed the entrance hall, Draco leading the way through the house and up to the dining room where the Dark Lord tended to host his meetings. Severus gritted his teeth, loathing the dread that pooled in his stomach and wondering what might've happened to have so angered the Dark Lord. He knew of nothing the Order had been planning that would set him off and that, Severus supposed, didn't bode well for him.

When they reached the dining room, Lucius, Narcissa, Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan were already seated. Others were beginning to arrive, their footsteps echoing loudly in the halls as they hurried to their master's side. Severus slipped into the seat beside Lucius, watching Draco take the empty seat beside his mother. She reached for the boy's hand under the table, giving it a squeeze. Lucius met his gaze with eyes that glittered with fear and resignation, and Severus's stomach turned over.

"My friendssss," the Dark Lord said when every seat was filled, all of them awaiting for their Lord's address. "I have sssome distresssssing newsss."

Severus scanned the table before closing his eyes in horror, suddenly realising what the Dark Lord planned to impart.

"It ssseems that our friend, Wormtail, hasss ssseen the Light," the Dark Lord said, and hisses sounded all around the table. "Yesss, I wass asss dissssssgussssted assss you."

A flick of his wand brought the body of the late Peter Pettigrew crashing to the table from above, where he'd been levitating, Disillusioned.

Draco let out an undignified squeak of horror and Rowle recoiled so violently from the table that he toppled his chair to the floor with a crash.

No one laughed.

The reactions might've been funny if not for the dire news to learn they had been betrayed.

"Yesssss, jussst asss he once turned on his Order friendssss, Wormtail has proven himssself a sssssnivelling rat," the Dark Lord sneered as Nagini slithered up his arm from the floor and began winding her way along the table toward the body. He'd been mutilated, Severus noted, feeling a terrible sense of misjustice that the death he'd been promised had been taken from him. He'd been bargaining with the Dark Lord since his return to be allowed the chance to slaughter Wormtail for the no-good rat he was, claiming that he would one day show his yellow belly and try to turn on them, too.

"Sssseverussss, you are angry?" the Dark Lord said, catching his loathsome expression.

"Enraged, my Lord," Severus agreed, tight lipped in his fury. "I foretold his cowardice, my Lord, and I was promised the right of slaughter his just as soon as he was no longer of use to you."

"Yessss, you have been robbed of his murder, dear Severussss," the Dark Lord purred, obviously pleased to know Severus had foreseen the betrayal, but not known when it would come, or that it would happen now. "It sseeems he went snivelling to the Order, begging forgiveness. He miscalculated the phase of the moon and as you can see, his former friend, the werewolf, was only too willing to make him pay for his cowardice."

Severus bared his teeth, his fists clenching in his fury to know that Lupin had been afforded the chance to exact his revenge, while Severus had been robbed of it. Blast it all, the wretch could at least have given him the chance to help!

Not that there was much left to decimate after Remus had finished. The body was tattered, bloody, and broken. He was unrecognisable but for his wretched hairstyle and his pudgy shape. His face was gone, lycanthropic claws having scratched and slashed at the flesh until nothing of his identity remained.

"I was not made aware of his attempt to re-join the Order, my Lord," Severus offered, frowning at he noted the depth of the gouges. "Are you certain this was Lupin and not… another werewolf with whom Wormtial was current enemies?"

Greyback snarled at the insinuation.

"If it'd been me, Snape," Greyback sneered, baring bloody fangs at him from further down the table, "There wouldn't have been a body to find."

Severus curled his lip in return, knowing Greyback's penchant for feasting on the corpses of those he slayed.

"This was Lupin," Dolohov said, his Russian accent thick as he examined the body with a morbid curiosity that unsettled even Severus. "No one else would know about this."

He lifted Wormtail's leg, twisting the already-broken joint to show Severus the sole of Wormtail's foot. Or what was left. The flesh had been peeled off to the bone, but Severus knew that once upon a time, the soles of the former-Marauder's feet had borne a tattoo in the shape of two paw-prints, a hoof-print, and a tiny rat claw print. The Animagus forms of the Marauders memorialised upon the soles of their feet. Lupin, Black, and Potter had all borne them too, though Remus was the last remaining member, now.

Draco covered his mouth, dry-heaving at the grisly sight and Lucius reached for him surreptitiously.

"I suspect that Dumbledore is unaware of Wormtail's attempt to switch sides," the Dark Lord said, the hiss in his voice subsiding as some of his anger faded. "Lupin acted alone – and left the body somewhere for us to find – but unfortunately, in his attempts to make amends, Wormtial did something rather displeasing."

Severus wasn't the only one holding his breath and awaiting the Dark Lord's announcement.

"The Selwyn family, you will notice, are not present this evening," the Dark Lord pointed out quietly.

"He killed them all?" Rabastan grunted. "Single-handedly?"

"Selwyn Hall is… in need of redecoration," the Dark Lord said delicately. "There were no survivors."

"None at all?" Lucius asked, clearly shocked. "Didn't Elizabeth Selwyn recently give birth to triplets?"

"She did," the Dark Lord inclined his head and Severus marvelled that among wretches such as those who filled out the ranks of his brethren – men and women who'd slain hundreds of women and children and tired old men – there could be so much outrage at the thought of such pure blood being spilled.

Were he not already dead, Wormtail would surely have been submitted to a fate worse than any but that which Severus had daydreamed up for him. Worse than the end Lupin had given him. Narcissa gave a delicate sob in her seat, mourning the death of the Selwyn family.

"In any case, it is done," the Dark Lord sighed. "I thought it prudent to ensure you were all aware. Such disloyalty is not tolerated in my ranks, and such loss is to be mourned. There will be Funeral Games for the Selwyns in the upcoming days. Be advised that your presence, and those of your families, is mandatory."

With a lazy flick of his wrist, the Dark Lord dismissed them just as Nagini reached Wormtail's body and slithered herself into position, her jaw unhinging and stretching wide as she began devouring the corpse whole.

No one lingered, having witnessed the sight of the giant snake ingesting human corpses before and knowing better than to watch lest they wanted to lose their dinner. Lucius and Narcissa excused themselves once the brethren had left, ushering Draco out with them and undoubtedly intending to keep the boy home for the evening rather than allowing him to return to Hogwarts alongside Severus.

Severus knew that the Dark Lord required private discussion with him even as Rabastan, Bella, and Rodolphus quietly discussed the Selwyn's demise – planning funeral arrangements of the deceased. Rising to his feet, Severus approached the Dark Lord, who tipped his head toward a door that led out into the gardens, indicating that they would walk and talk.

"My Lord," he bowed his head deferentially.

"What did Dumbledore make of your return last night, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked him quietly as they strolled out onto the patio that led to Narcissa's glorious gardens beyond.

"He was displeased, my Lord," Severus admitted, recalling Albus's annoyance at the idea that he'd been punished. Not because he much cared that Severus had endured a little pain, but because he didn't like the thought of his spy displeasing the master that Dumbledore believed him to be hoodwinking.

"Worried your position in my ranks might be tenuous?" the Dark Lord confirmed.

"Indeed, my Lord," Severus said.

"And you?" he asked. "Do you worry for your position, Severus?"

"No, my Lord," Severus admitted softly. "My esteem in your eyes may fluctuate, but my loyalty will always remain, and even if I were forced into the position Wormtail has so rudely vacated, I would remain by your side, awaiting the chance to redeem myself in your eyes once more."

The Dark Lord hummed softly in approval, stopping him with a touch to his wrist before reaching to card an almost affectionate hand through Severus's hair. The touch ought to have unsettled him – as it unsettled so many – and Severus knew that there was something fundamentally wrong with him that he leaned into the caress like an adoring mutt revelling in the petting from his master.

"It is your loyalty I so adore," the Dark Lord told him quietly. "And it is your loyalty I seek to reward, Severus. Of all among my followers, only you have the courage to inform me of my errors when I am in danger of making them. The others paid little mind to Wormtail, but  _you_  foresaw his betrayal of us and sought to warn me. You return again and again to the school you hate, wiggling yourself under the thumb of Albus Dumbledore for the sake of keeping me informed of his pitiful attempts to thwart me. You subject yourself to all those wretched children and refrain from murdering them for the sake of maintaining the position I have put you in."

Severus bowed his head at the acknowledgement.

"I was wrong to punish you yesterday," the Dark Lord said quietly, surprising Severus so much that he lifted his head and stared at the Dark Lord, his eyes wide in confusion.

"No, my Lord. I failed you. I should've been more aware of others collecting titbits to return to you. It was my carelessness that allowed yesterday's blunder."

"It was your loyalty to me that perhaps resulted in Dumbledore's refusal to share the information with you until now, while others were able to gain it in other fields where I've strategically placed them. I cannot fault you for  _his_  distrust, Severus. It would surely be beyond my realm of capabilities to so effectively hoodwink the wretched muggle-lover, as you do. Salazar knows he always saw right through me when I was a mere student."

Severus blinked, never having heard the Dark Lord mention his schooling before now.

"It occurs to me, Severus," he went on quietly. "That despite my attempts, there is nothing that can be done to cease the ravages of time. Your potions and concoctions have worked wonders, but the loss of the Selwyns calls into sharp relief something I'd begun to notice."

"My Lord?" Severus asked, frowning.

"Look at me, Severus. What do you see?" the Dark Lord asked, and Severus eyed him critically, knowing the man would accept nothing but the truth from him.

"You are… terrifying, my Lord," Severus admitted.

"I am old," the Dark Lord sighed. "I am old and bald, and my nose is gone. This body was to be but a temporary solution to return me to physical form after my brief demise. Do you recall me when I was young, before my visit to Godric's Hollow and Potter's interference with my plans?"

Severus nodded slowly.

"You were glorious, my Lord," he said quietly. "Handsome. Strong. Intimidating in your beauty, rather than terrible in your disfigurement."

The Dark Lord bowed his head in silent agreement, taking no offence to the baldly spoken words, and Severus frowned.

"I could attempt further potions to restore you, my Lord," he offered. "But I fear the inclusion of Nagini's genetics in the potion that created your body is what has caused the baldness and the nose. I'd offer you some of my own, but I fear that would look worse."

The Dark Lord tittered a laugh that sounded like rattling bones – a sound that set Severus's teeth on edge.

"Ah, Severus, you do amuse me so. No, I haven't asked you out here to discuss further restorative potions, or to rob you of your nose, my friend."

Severus smiled in return, waiting patiently for the Dark Lord to make his point.

"Selwyn Hall now stands empty, Severus," the Dark Lord told him quietly. "With the entire family dead, and your mother's people being a branch off their tree you are technically the legal heir to the Hall."

Severus blinked in surprise, shocked to hear it. His mother's bloodline was, indeed, descended from the Selwyns. His grandmother had been a Selwyn, before marrying into the Prince family and birthing Eileen.

"Surely the Lestranges or the Bulstrodes have a stronger claim, my Lord," he protested.

"They do not. And in any case, they've all their own impressive dwellings, while  _you_  reside in that hovel your muggle father abused you in all your life, my friend. It is time you considered relocation."

Severus frowned.

"You wish for me to take up their seat, my Lord? To what end?"

The Dark Lord smiled.

"No end, Severus. Call it a reward for your service and your loyalty. And an apology for my failure to fulfil my promise that you could murder Wormtail yourself. Your honesty is refreshing among so many silver-tongued wretches, no? Think of it as a grand apology for my mistaken punishment of you yesterday. I wish to keep your council more firmly, and you must be raised in the eyes of the brethren in accordance with my esteem. Will you accept Lordship of Selwyn Hall?"

Severus blinked again, suspicious, but doubting it would be wise to refuse the Dark Lord's generous offer – especially if he truly was the heir to the Hall.

"Do I have to keep calling it Selwyn Hall?" he asked begrudgingly.

The Dark Lord laughed. "For a time. It would be in poor taste to see them so quickly falling to little more than memory and a note the history books."

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord," Severus bowed his head, his mind spinning with confusion, trying to unravel whatever plot the Dark Lord must surely be weaving if he wanted to install him in Selwyn Hall.

"Think nothing of it, my friend. Now come, I'm sure you will be needing to return to Dumbledore and your duties as my spy in his midst. Over the holidays you will be able to relocate to Selwyn Hall – it will give me the chance to have it cleaned up after Wormtail's butchery while you fulfil your role as my faithful spy."

Severus bowed his head once more.

"Thank you, my Lord," he murmured, lowering himself to one knee and kissing the Dark Lord's knuckles deferentially.

"No, thank  _you_ , Severus," The Dark Lord said quietly, smiling in a way that made Severus nervous.

Recognising that he'd been dismissed, Severus rose and bowed to the Dark Lord once more before winding his way back through the Manor. Anger simmered in his blood that he'd been robbed of murdering Pettigrew and when he was on the front steps, he twisted sharply, Disapparating with a sharp crack. He landed in the woods that led to a falling down cabin. Narrowing his eyes on the cottage, Severus stormed up to the door, the wards rippling over him and granting him entrance. He pounded on the door furiously when he reached it, listening the sound of a growl from inside the cottage. When Lupin opened the door, he looked like hell. His hair was dishevelled, he'd obviously been drinking, and from the nude and bloodied state of his body, he'd obviously only recently regained human form following the full moon.

"Severus?" Lupin blinked at him.

Severus greeted him with a punch to the jaw.

"That's for slipping your leash and committing murder," he snarled as Remus reeled back before baring his teeth in warning. Severus struck him again, blackening his eye.

"That's for killing that fucking bastard without letting me help!" He went on, blocking the wild haymaker Remus threw in return.

"And this," he hissed, grabbing the now furious werewolf and wrestling him into the closest thing to a hug he could offer while the man was struggling and snarling. "This is for finally killing that cowardly fucking rat."

Remus flailed in his hold, obviously uncomfortable being hugged whilst drunk and naked after being beaten up.

"Could you get off, Snape?" Remus rumbled after patting him awkwardly on the back before struggling free once more.

Severus released him and stood at arm's length, his eyes dancing over Lupin's face.

Remus looked away, obviously ashamed of what he'd done. He didn't look like he regretted taking Wormtail's life, he just looked like he didn't feel any better for it.

"It didn't help," Lupin admitted, swigging from a half-drunk bottle of whiskey and turning away toward the kitchen, heedless of his nudity.

"It rarely does," Severus admitted, following him.

"They found the body, then?" Remus confirmed.

"Nagini is gorging on the remains as we speak," Severus nodded.

"You punched me," Lupin said reproachfully, rubbing his jaw as though it hurt.

"You killed Wormtail without me," Severus retorted, unable to completely let go of his fury at being robbed the chance to slowly peel that rat's skin off to find out if he really was yellow and rotten inside.

"You'd have been in my way," Remus muttered. " And I was hardly in any state to make a Floo call."

Severus curled his lip. "Does Dumbledore know?"

Remus glanced at him whilst tipping the whiskey bottle to his lips and pulling on it in long gulps. That, really, was all the answer Severus needed. No, Dumbledore didn't know his pet werewolf had murdered anyone – a former friend, turned bitter enemy – and Severus wasn't so sure it was a good idea to tell him.

"Do you know why Wormtail would have murdered the Selwyn family as a means of earning your forgiveness?" Severus asked, frowning when it occurred to him that while Remus might've lost control and slaughtered the rat, he would never usually hold with murder. The wolf was many things, but bloodthirsty on non-moon days wasn't one of them. He wouldn't approve the slaughter of an entire family.

"He killed them all?" Remus asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and seeming not to notice that he was still naked and still covered in Wormtail's blood.

"According to the Dark Lord," Severus shrugged, accepting the bottle from the werewolf when he offered it to him, now glassy-eyed. Severus wondered how many bottles he'd had to ingest to look even this faintest bit drunk.

"Makes no sense," Remus muttered. "Wouldn't forgive him for anything. Especially not for committing more murder. I'd look closer to home for their killers, Snape. Who stands to benefit the most from killing off all the Selwyns?"

Severus frowned.

"Me," he admitted. "The Dark Lord informed me that Selwyn Hall would fall to me upon their deaths. But I didn't kill them."

Remus frowned, obviously more than a little bit tipsy and still affected by his wolf and the moon. He wasn't entirely with it – Severus doubted he even knew he was naked.

"You?" Remus frowned. "You're a halfblood with a muggle father. How do you inherit Selwyn Hall?"

"My grandmother was a Selwyn before she married a Prince and had my mother," Severus waved his fingers dismissively. "You are aware that you're naked, yes?"

Remus wrinkled his brow, glancing down at himself in surprise.

"Shit," he grunted, scratching at some of the dried blood crusted to his bare chest.

"Get in the shower, Lupin," Severus sighed. "And keep your mouth shut about Wormtail. I'll pass on to Dumbledore that he's been killed after murdering the Selwyn family – though it smells more like the Dark Lord might've murdered them for nefarious purpose and conveniently pinned it on Wormtail as a traitor. What was he doing here?"

Remus shook his head slowly.

"Spying," he said. "Caught him while he was transformed and hiding in the garden. He knew the way here, of course, and he wandered inside the wards. Maybe he thought it was moral support even though I'd rather rip my fangs out one at a time than ever look at him again. Maybe he wanted to find out how weakened I was on the Wolfsbane, or he was seeking to finish the job of killing the rest of us Marauders off, like he killed of James and Lily, and then Sirius."

"Bellatrix kills Sirius."

"Bellatrix fired a Stunning spell and he fell through the Veil. But he'd never have been at the Ministry, and Bellatrix would never have escaped if Voldemort hadn't returned. And Voldemort could never have so successfully returned if not for Peter. Therefore, Peter killed Sirius too, inadvertently, and he fucking deserved what he got."

"He deserved far worse," Severus disagreed.

Remus grunted. "Should've known that if anyone in the world wouldn't judge me for what I did, it'd be you."

"You should've known I wanted to help torture him into madness before peeling the flesh from his bones. I saw what you did to his feet. Nice touch."

"He didn't fucking deserve to wear our marks," Remus muttered darkly, lifting the bottle to his lips once more and obviously struggling with the unconscionable act of murder, even though Wormtail had more than deserved it.

"You'd taken life before him," Severus reminded him.

"Never like that," Remus whispered, his eyes haunted. "He begged me, before the end. I took my time destroying him and everything he represented in my memories. I peeled the tattoos from his flesh a layer at a time. I clawed his face off until he was unrecognisable. I've never…. Not like that."

Severus nodded in silent understanding. He knew what it was to slowly torture someone to death, and he knew how it felt so much different from the quick and usually painless end amid a fiery duel. It was heady and terrible, and it stained the soul beyond repair.

"Take a shower, Lupin. Don't loiter wearing his blood like it's the spoils of victory."

"This is his?" Remus asked, frowning. "Thought it was mine."

Severus frowned at him and Remus shrugged turning slightly and showing him a terrible collection of gashes across his back where it looked like he'd been whipped. He recognised the marks as Pettigrew's handiwork. The wretch had always enjoyed watching others squirm. Remus twisted the other way, showing off some nasty claw marks and a bite where he'd obviously attacked himself. All of his wounds were bloody and looked infected.

Sighing, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, realising it was obviously going to fall to him to get the werewolf back to human if they were to keep Dumbledore from knowing he'd murdered Pettigrew. Severus didn't know why, but he didn't want the old man to know that Remus had killed him. He didn't even like the fucking wolf, and he was going to protect him. What in Circe's cunt was wrong with him? First, he'd fucked a student, and now he was helping one of his teenage tormentors.

Maybe he was going soft in the brain.

Grumbling under his breath, Severus pried the bottle from Lupin's grip and directed him down the hall to the shower, paying no mind to his nudity. Lupin complied, leaning against the wall under the spray when the shower ran, letting the blood wash away. With his wand, Severus cleaned the fool up, healing his wounds, and when he was done, he shoved the werewolf down the hall and into his bed.

"Keep your mouth shut about Pettigrew," Severus commanded gruffly.

Remus nodded, his eyes already closing as his exhaustion won out.

"Severus?" he said quietly when Severus was almost out the door and Severus stopped, peering over his shoulder at his last remaining childhood rival. Lupin had one eye open – the one Severus had blackened – and his mouth was twisted into a sad smile.

"I'm sorry I didn't share the kill with you," he said quietly. "I know that things were always rocky between all of us, but you were as hurt over Lily's death as Sirius and I were over James's, and over Lily's. I'm sorry I didn't… reach out to you after their deaths…"

Severus nodded, his jaw set, never one to willingly discuss his pain over Lily's loss.

"It's done now. There is no one left to blame, but ourselves."

"Yeah," Remus sighed. "I think we'll always blame ourselves. Still, I'm sorry I couldn't call on you to help flay him alive. And thank you… for wanting to keep it quiet… I know we're not… friends… and likely never will be, but… if you ever need anything, Snape… well…"

Severus's lips twisted into a cruel smile.

"If I'm ever in need of an attack dog, I'll howl," Severus sneered.

"A werewolf joke?" Lupin laughed quietly. "Really? Who are you? Sirius?"

Severus huffed, offended, and Remus laughed.

"Eat me, Remus," Severus muttered, stomping for the door.

"Now I  _know_  you're channelling Sirius," the werewolf teased.

"Fuck off, Lupin."

"You know, I think I've missed this," Remus laughed as Severus stomped out the door and began down the hall. "But I mean it. You need anything, you know how to find me, yeah?"

"If I need anything, I'll seek out someone useful."

Remus was still laughing by the time Severus reached the door. Severus shook his head, wondering if the werewolf was becoming hysterical before reminding himself that he didn't care. He disapparated from the front lawn of Remus's cottage, gritting his teeth at the idea of needing to report to Dumbledore before he could even think about returning to his chambers to bathe off the feel of the meeting and to find something or someone to take his fury out on. Punching Lupin hadn't been nearly as satisfying as he'd hoped, and Severus muttered darkly under his breath about the no-good, soft-hearted werewolf who'd managed to turn a brutal murder into some sort of twisted bonding experience between old enemies.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore greeted him, his brow furrowing when Severus barged into his office without invitation. "You've been busy this evening."

"Wormtail is dead," Severus grunted, throwing himself down in his chair.

"By whose hand?" Dumbledore frowned.

Severus was in no mood to talk, so he simply leaned forward, his eyes wide, inviting the other wizard to view the memories for himself. Dumbledore made a face at him, never liking having to enter his mind because of Severus's natural resistance, and because Severus's outlook on the world was rarely a pleasant one.

For several long minutes, Albus rummaged through his head, examining his discussion with the Dark Lord with special attentiveness. By the time he withdrew, a terrible ache throbbed behind his eyes that did nothing for Severus's already murderous mood.

"He wishes to make you Lord of Selwyn Hall," Albus murmured. "To what end?"

Severus shrugged his shoulders, beyond the ability to think clearly.

"I will ponder it. Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Severus didn't bother with his usual snark over being used as little more than a bulletin board for information to the old man, rising to his feet and stalking off in the directions of the dungeons once more.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Hermione's worry increased with every passing minute as she watched the clock slowly counting the hours while Professor Snape was gone. She knew she ought to have returned to her dormitory like he'd told her to. She knew she ought to have long been abed, by now. Yet, she wasn't. She'd been pacing a hole in the dungeon classroom floor, having finished all the ingredient preparation that he'd left for her, and having finished the pile of marking he'd left on his desk when he'd rushed off to the meeting. She'd been going out of her mind and desperate for a distraction, and she didn't much fancy his reaction to see she'd done his marking for him – going so far as to call a few people dunderheads when she'd read some of their work and mimicking his style of handwriting and harsh marking.

She knew he would likely be in a foul mood when he returned, and that he might take it out on her, but after last night and seeing how badly injured he'd been, she didn't – couldn't – leave until she knew he'd returned and knew he was safe. He would be beyond furious with her, she was sure, but she had to know that he wasn't going to crawl home and bleed out in this freezing cold dungeon all alone, too stubborn, and too buried in his Occlumency shields to heal himself or seek assistance. Unable to stand the silence of the cold dungeons, but unwilling to draw attention to herself lest some patrolling teacher or Mr Filch happened by to find her out of bed, after hours, Hermione resorted to holing up in the storeroom.

She'd finished with the crates of ingredients he'd given her to sort through – much to her disgust when she'd been pulling the eyes out of beetles and needing to preserve their separate parts for use in potion making. She'd pulled the wings off petrified fairies and she'd dissected flobberworms. And now all that was left to do was to sort through everything else in the storeroom, alphabetising it and rearranging everything in a way she  _knew_ she'd be in trouble for, but unable to help herself both as a lover of order, and as a nervous wreck right at that moment.

She was muttering to herself as she sorted everything by hand, going so far as to do a deep clean of the storeroom, both with and without magic to the point where the shelves were gleaming and had been completely reorganised and labelled for their specific jars. She'd begun a list of things that needed to be ordered and restocked, taking note of all that had been lost thanks to Peeves and his mischief, in addition to things that were past their used by date and had needed to be thrown out. She'd conjured a little floating light to follow her around, swirling overheard in the otherwise dark storeroom and she was so focused on her task that she didn't hear the almost-silent footfalls when someone invaded the space behind her.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Severus Snape stopped in his tracks as he was crossing the dungeon classroom that led into his private office, and then deeper into his chambers. Light flickered in the storeroom and he frowned, wondering if Miss Granger had forgotten to douse the torches before returning to bed like he'd instructed her before hurrying off to the meeting. He walked quietly as he approached, wondering if perhaps some plucky student was in there trying to raid the store again – since Miss Granger had surely learned her lesson by now.

He was in no mood to have some snot-nosed brat raiding his stores again. His head was pounding thanks to Dumbledore's scrutiny and his blood was still boiling over the death of Wormtail at anyone's hand but his own. His mind was a whir of suspicion and paranoia, trying to unravel the reason the Dark Lord might want to install him as Lord of Selwyn Hall badly enough to have slaughtered the entire family – his own supporters – just to bring about such a reality. He didn't trust that there wasn't an ulterior motive, and the more he thought about it, the less sense it made that Wormtail would've murdered them all to attempt to betray the Dark Lord.

When he reached the doorway to the storeroom, Severus's brow furrowed first in annoyance, and then suspicion. Standing with her back to him amid the cleanest and most neatly organised storeroom he'd ever seen was the curly-haired menace of a witch that he'd spent most of the day agonising over having fucked. She was muttering to herself, wiping down shelves, wielding a labelling quill and juggling jars of potion ingredients while a curious little light swirled overhead.

Miss Granger.

He curled his lip, drawing in a slow breath intent on exploding at her about what she thought she was still doing in there, once again out of bed after hours, but he bit his tongue when he noticed the way her fingers twitched restlessly.

"Honestly, who keeps pickled toad hearts for fifteen years?" she was muttering to herself. "How is anyone supposed to brew a passable potion with such dated ingredients?"

Severus narrowed his eyes, watching as she swept up several jars that had been sitting on the back of the shelf collecting dust since the beginning of his teaching career. He could tell they were, indeed, as old as she claimed because the handwriting on the jar label was not his own spiky script, but the messy scrawl of Horace Slughorn. For a long moment as he stood in the doorway watching the oblivious and distracted witch, Severus thought about taking his fury with the evening's events out on her. How dare she still be loitering in the storeroom when he'd given her express instructions to return to her dormitory before he'd hurried off to his meeting?

He spent a further few minutes, when she suddenly bent over to dump the outdated ingredients into a big crate of similarly dated things, recalling with sudden clarity the wretchedly erotic daydream he'd come across in her mind that morning. Severus closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath before he levelled a glare down the front of his person when his cock stirred in his trousers, suddenly recalling the warmth and delicious welcome she'd offered him when he'd returned from last night's meeting. He might've been disgusted with himself in the early hours of the morning – his morality and his position as her teacher making for the perfect lecturer against such actions. But tonight, he wasn't her teacher. Tonight, he was a ruthless, cold-hearted, angry Death Eater who'd been thwarted out of a murder he'd longed to commit and who'd been manipulated into a position he wasn't thrilled about.

Tonight, he didn't give a hoot that she was only seventeen, or that it was immoral to fuck a student under his tutelage. Tonight, he was very much a man with carnal needs and she was very much a woman who had already gloriously seen to those needs once. Tonight, he was sinfully aware that she'd entertained thoughts of doing so even  _before_  he'd come home covered in blood and half out of his mind, his humanity deeply buried.

Slipping his wand from his pocket, Severus traced it through the air behind the distracted witch, checking for Dark curses and spells that might've influenced her thoughts or manipulated her into interest in him. He frowned when the only thing his diagnostic charms picked up on was high levels of worry and anxiety. Shaking his head slowly, his Death Eater subconscious only too willing to draw the conclusion that she must still be here and fussing over the state of his storeroom whilst anxiously awaiting his return, Severus peeled his mask from his face and banished it to his quarters.

"Come on, Professor," the girl suddenly whispered. Lowering her wand and resting her forehead against her hands on one of the shelves. "What's taking so long? Where are you?"

He blinked in surprise, watching the girl for another long moment in silence, confirming that she was still blissfully unaware of his presence. She truly was waiting up for him to return, he realised, and Severus shook his head at so novel an idea.

"What do you think you're doing?" He hissed waspishly, irrationally annoyed with the witch for thinking she could wait up for him. How dare she assume he needed to be waited on like a parent might await some hapless teenager out on a sweaty first date?

She squealed, jumping in shock and dropping one of the dated jars of toad hearts as she spun on him with her wand drawn. Severus glared at her, his eyes narrowed hatefully.

"Professor! You're back," she said stupidly, and Severus curled his lip at her relieved smile. Before he could berate her, she suddenly swatted his chest. "Don't do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack! What's the big idea, sneaking up on me? You made me drop a jar!"

"You'll be lucky if I don't make you clean it up by hand," he snapped, narrowing his eyes on her for the assumed familiarity of swatting him like he was her friend. He might be entertaining less than savoury thoughts and planning to do truly despicable things the little swot, but he still deserved more respect and more fear than she was practicing.

She blinked at him for a moment, obviously realising that she was very much in the presence of a Death Eater, one who wasn't a nice man at the best of times, let alone when he'd had such a wretched night.

"Are you injured, sir?" she asked quietly, pocketing her wand and reaching a tentative hand in his direction, obviously concerned for him. Severus's head throbbed. He was in no mood for manners or bullshit excuses or platitudes.

He wanted to fight and he wanted to fuck, and he was thinking that Miss Granger might be the perfect candidate to do both.

"Do you imagine I've survived so long as a spy by regularly allowing myself to be savaged by werewolves?" he challenged.

She shook her head, her eyes scanning over him in the dimly lit room, obviously searching for any sign of blood or injury, just the same.

"Why are you still here?" he asked, though he knew the answer, wanting to hear her say it, wondering if she'd admit it.

"Erm… I was distracted by the cleaning when I finished with my crates," she lied and Severus curled his lip.

She blushed pink, obviously realising he knew it was a lie.

"Fine. Maybe I was worried about you after the state you returned in last night," she muttered.

"You imagine me incapable of surviving one little Death Eater meeting alongside my brethren?" he asked.

"I know you'd have bled out last night before being human enough to heal your own wounds," she retorted, narrowing her eyes, refusing to back down. Severus hated that he kind of liked that. He couldn't stand simpering, pathetic witches who bowed their heads demurely and meekly accepted belittlement or abuse just for the sake of avoiding a fight.

"And you thought you'd play the heroine?" he sneered. "I don't recall needing much saving when you were riding my cock, Granger."

Her eyes widened at his crudeness and her cheeks brightened once more. Severus narrowed his eyes on her.

"I don't imagine you'd have had the blood to spare that would allow anyone to ride it ever again if I hadn't healed you," she replied and Severus took a step toward her, looming over her and trapping her against the shelves of the storeroom.

His head was still pounding and his knuckles were bloody from beating Lupin, but his cock was rapidly hardening, too.

"You shouldn't be here," he told her.

"Perhaps not," she agreed. "But I am, just the same."

"You should go," he asserted.

She pressed her lips together for a long moment before tipping her head up just far enough to boldly meet his gaze.

"I don't want to," she admitted and Severus's cock twitched.

"You're not safe here," he tried to warn her. "If you don't leave…"

He trailed off, unable to voice all the things he wanted to do to her right in that moment when he wasn't certain she should be hearing such things.

"I'm not scared of you, Severus," she said quietly, using his given name rather than his title and making him twitch ever so slightly. He wasn't sure he liked the way she could so easily tell apart who he was when the Death Eater inside him rose to the surface as opposed to who he was as a teacher.

"You should be," he admitted darkly. "The things I could do to you, Granger, would boggle your innocent little mind."

"Perhaps," she admitted, nodding slowly even as she slid her feet closer across the uneven storeroom floor.

"Why are you here, Granger?" he asked, and he caught the way her expression shifted ever so slightly when he left off the 'Miss' that he'd usually include when addressing her as her teacher.

He wasn't her teacher tonight.

"I think you know," she replied, unafraid of the wicked gleam in his eyes or the darkness that blackened his soul.

If he wasn't mistaken, he might think that she preferred the Death Eater persona over who he was as her teacher. That much seemed clear when she defiantly met his gaze, refusing to say she'd been worried about him, but certainly not afraid of him or what he might do to her. She didn't look scared of the lust he knew was glittering in his eyes and she didn't back down when he took another step closer to her, so close now that if she breathed too deeply, they would be touching. He could smell the faintest aroma of vanilla in her hair and Severus's cock throbbed with the urge he had to bury his hands in the wild tangle of curls whilst burying his cock inside that hot, slick well between her legs. He was sure that in the morning, he might need to examine in further detail the fact that she obviously feared him just a little as her teacher, but wasn't afraid of him now.

He was sure that in the morning, he might need to re-examine his priorities and figure out why in Circe's cunt he was sexually attracted to the witch, too, but right then he was a little more interested in taking his foul mood out on her in the most carnal of ways.

"Did you imagine that if you loitered here long enough, I'd turn that erotic little daydream of yours into a reality?" he taunted, smirking wickedly at her.

Her cheeks brightened at the mention of what he'd seen in her head and for just a moment he thought she might look away, or try to hurry off to bed after all. He wasn't expecting it when she narrowed her eyes on him slightly.

"Will you?" she asked, her voice turning husky as well. He caught the way her nipples tightened inside her shirt at the thought and he knew that if he hadn't already been destined for hell, he surely would be now.

She didn't back down when he slid his feet closer, moving until his front brushed against hers and towering over her. She was almost a foot shorter than him, he noticed, but she wasn't afraid. When she lifted her hands, and rested them flat against his chest, Severus tensed at the touch, knowing he really shouldn't. He should send her off to bed after docking house points for her flouting of school rules.

He definitely shouldn't be thinking about hard-fucking her against the shelves of the storeroom until all the jars toppled to the floor and she was screaming his name.

"Do you often indulge in fantasies of being ravished by me, Granger?" he drawled, smirking just a little.

She narrowed her eyes on him.

"What if I do?" she challenged, and Severus's grin grew positively wicked even as he reached out a hand and tangled it in her wild curls, planning to do truly despicable things to her.

"Then by all means, share them."


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

* * *

Hermione tipped her head back, her heart racing inside her chest and her hands fisting the front of his Death Eater robes. She knew it was wrong. She knew she should be ashamed of the wanton little moan that escaped her as her Potions professor kissed her neck roughly, nipping her and tormenting her in the most sinful way.

She knew the right thing to do would be to push him away and return to her dormitory, perhaps to masturbate in private until the throbbing ache between her legs subsided. She knew she should leave, but she also knew she wasn't going to. She didn't know what kind of night he'd had, but she knew he was angry. Angry, and horny, if the steel rod prodding her stomach was anything to go by. Closing her eyes and quivering at the sensation as the faintest traces of stubble rasped against her skin, Hermione began unbuttoning the many buttons on his robes, moaning softly when his hands slid over her waist and down to settle tightly on her arse.

Merlin, she wanted him to shag her right there in the storeroom. Who was she kidding? She wanted him to shag her anywhere he liked, just as long as he shagged her until she couldn't see straight. He pressed her back against the shelves and Hermione whimpered at the feel of his long, lean form trapping her petite one.

He didn't speak as he tormented her flesh, and he didn't protest as she slowly stripped him until his robes hung open over his bare chest. She yelped in surprise when he tightened his grip on her arse, lifting her with ease. She wrapped her legs around his hips, tangling her fingers in his long, ink-black hair while he nosed at her chest. Her eyes crossed when he bit her nipple through her shirt and Hermione sighed when she felt him moving, peeling her from the shelves and carrying her out of the storeroom. She was too delirious with the giddy rush of pleasure to ask where he was taking her, but when her back hit something soft that smelled like him, she had her answer.

He lifted off her enough to rip her shirt open and Hermione hissed in delight when he fixed her a carnal look that dampened her knickers.

"Scared yet?" he asked, peeling her out of her shirt and her bra.

Hermione shook her head emphatically, and his lips twitched on a wicked grin. She could see the recklessness boiling in his eyes when he unbuttoned her jeans and Hermione lifted, letting him yank them down until she was laid out, completely bare upon his bed inside his chambers. She was much too distracted by him to notice the décor, despite having fantasised too many times to count what it might be like in his private rooms.

He was methodical in his seduction, trailing a burning line of kisses over her bare chest and latching onto her right nipple in such a way that Hermione cried out, arching into the touch. The smooth of his cool fingers across her stomach and then lower, sluicing between her legs to find her core wet and needy, made her moan. Her lips tingled with the urge to kiss him – a touch he seemed intent on disallowing. He hadn't kissed her last night, either and Hermione wondered if perhaps he didn't like snogging. She forgot the thought before it could fully form when he suckled at her breast, drawing on it hard enough to make it ache even as he dipped two fingers greedily inside her.

"Oh, gods," she moaned breathlessly, her eyes closed against the sensations intent on unravelling her.

Her whole body thrummed with need as he slowly beckoned with those two dexterous digits deep inside of her and Hermione knotted her hands in his hair, wanting more. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to taste him again, but she never wanted him to stop touching her, either. He trailed hot kisses across the valley between her breasts before engulfing the left one in his hot mouth and Hermione almost sobbed with need.

His fingers inside her made her tremble, slowly working over than special spot that she knew would bring her undone. He seemed intent on it, silent in his seduction and merciless in his torment until Hermione cried out breathlessly, the tension twisting and coiling tighter and tighter, just waiting to snap free. For her trouble she earned a wicked chuckle and she hissed when he kissed across her stomach, tracing circles with the tip of his tongue around her navel, sliding ever-lower.

She saw stars when he buried his face between her legs, his fingers teasing her while he suckled at the little bundle of nerves and the top of her slit. Hermione arched, fisting handfuls of his hair, desperately seeking something to anchor herself to amid the storm of pleasure he seemed intent on unleashing upon her.

"Please, Severus," she whispered, her head thrashing from side to side, her body shuddering, chasing release.

"Did you imagine good manners would save you?" he asked, his voice a silken purr that made her tremble. When she tried to snap her legs shut, her heart pounding, her pussy throbbing and her panic rising, he pinned her thighs open with unforgiving hands, dipping his tongue inside her and slowly devouring her.

His wicked tongue, so skilful at decimating the hopes and dreams and the patience of others, tormented her without mercy, licking and teasing and tasting every inch of her until Hermione was sure she might scream from pure frustration.

"Please!" she begged, lifting her head to stare at him, wild-eyed, as he feasted upon her.

His obsidian eyes flicked up to meet her gaze and Hermione mewled when she felt him slip into her mind with ease. He didn't search for anything, he simply watched, apparently revelling in the sweet chaos he rendered of her usually organised thoughts. When he latched onto her clit once more, sucking it hard and giving it a little twist, Hermione broke.

A soft squeal escaped her, and she shuddered violently, stars exploding behind her eyes. Everything snapped free and she was sure that she'd die a very happy girl if he decided to murder her right then. He didn't. He licked her through the intense orgasm and Hermione felt him slide her hands from his hair before he smoothed his palms over her hips. She wasn't expecting it when he suddenly pulled back from between her legs, gripped her hips tightly, and flipped her to her stomach. Before she could figure out what he was trying to do, he hiked her arse up into the air and shucked himself out of his trousers.

Hermione's breath caught on a sob when he pressed up behind her once more, sinking himself deep inside of her, filling her up and making her ache with the thrill of being impaled upon his cock again.

"Oh, god, Severus," she whispered, closing her eyes in sweet surrender. She listened to the soft sigh he emitted, his hands gripping her hips lightly as he held there for a moment, letting her acclimatise to the feel of him stretching her open and filling her up.

She would swear she felt him tremble before he began to move, sliding almost all the way out of her before rocking back in and filling her up once more. Hermione wondered if this was what heaven felt like.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Severus closed his eyes, clenching his jaw against the delicious heat of her body gripping him so tight and holding him so snugly inside of her. He'd fucked more witches than he'd ever admit to, but he rather liked fucking this one. She was nothing special, though her manners were impeccable as she begged him so sweetly for release. He wondered if it made him twisted to so thoroughly enjoy watching her squirm.

He slid out of her slowly, almost all the way, before driving back in hard. He wasn't the type of man interested in being gentle. Not in bed, and not in life. She huffed under him, pushing back into his thrust so that his pubic bone met her tailbone with a little jolt and Severus smirked. The brief glimpses inside her head suggested she wasn't interested in being gentle in bed, either. In her fantasies she imagined it rough, and Severus was pleased because he planned to give her rough. His fury over Wormtail's escape of his punishment and his annoyance with the wolf had combined with his frustration at Dumbledore and the resulting headache that meeting had birthed.

Snapping his hips, Severus picked up the pace, his grip on her hips tightening until he was sure she'd have bruises. She whined, pushing back into every thrust and writhing aboard his cock. He fucked her harder and harder, pushing deeper, feeling his fury beginning to manifest in his magic and uncaring that it might explode free.

When she gave a breathless moan and her body clamped around him, Severus laughed cruelly, hoping she knew that they were nowhere near done. He had every intention of fucking her into a stupor and he enjoyed her little whine of surprised frustration as her orgasm tapered away when he continued thrusting.

Her elbows gave out before he was done, and Severus laughed wickedly, letting her slide forward until she was face-down on his mattress, boneless with contentment.

"You're killing me," she muttered, though she wore a big Cheshire cat smile.

"Believe me, if I were killing you, Granger, it wouldn't feel like this," he murmured into her ear before peppering her neck, shoulders, and back with little nips and kisses that made her hum with delight.

She made a half-hearted attempt to continue pushing back into his thrusts and Severus laughed until she fixed him a wicked little smirk over her shoulder before clenching around him tightly. He narrowed his eyes on her, jolting into her a little harder and feeling the heat beginning to fizz up from his toes. She did it again, wickedly amused and grinning like the cat that got the canary and Severus knew she wanted to bring him undone. The little bitch.

"You'll have to do better than that," he chided, grinding into her, slowly his pace and opting for deep, grinding, aching sort of thrusts that made her arch. He ground the tip of his cock against that special spot inside her, making her crazy, and his lips twitched when she clenched fistfuls of the sheets, pushing back once more, writhing under him.

He nipped her shoulder hard enough to leave a welt and she whined. When he slid one hand under her and pinched her nipple, she yelped and tightened around him again, rhythmically clenching now, likely deriving as much pleasure from the sensation as he did, and Severus gritted his teeth, trying to cling to his self-control but feeling the boiling scald of orgasm building and fizzing, readying to burst free. She rolled her hips a little, testing him, and he knew she wanted to make him lose control. He loathed her for it, and was grateful for it, too. So much of his life was about remaining rigidly in control, and it was nice to think about losing control without repercussion.

Though he supposed it counted as a loss of self-control to have ever fucked her in the first place given that she was his student and a know-it-all little swot with bushy hair and too much arrogance and, the tightest cunt he'd ever fucked. Closing his eyes when the sensations got the best of him and trying vainly to hold off just a moment or two longer, Severus slid his hand under her, blindly seeking out that little pleasure button at the top of her sex and pinching it.

Her little breathless scream almost drowned out the faintest groan of completion she tore from his chest as the scalding heat rushed down his spine, boiling in his blood and fizzing up from his toes to fill her completely. She was panting and boneless when he could think clearly enough to realise he should get off her, though she seemed unfazed by his weight as he rested where he'd collapsed against her. Leaning his forehead against the curve of her shoulder, Severus tried to catch his breath, trying to clear his thoughts and to push away the wretched fizz of guilt when he noted her smaller stature thanks to her youth.

Torn between satiation and self-disgust, Severus sighed softly before slowly withdrawing from her and rolling away, onto his back on the mattress beside her. He frowned at the ceiling above his bed, realising slowly that in his mindless quest for pleasure, he'd brought the little swot into his chambers and fucked her in his bed like she was a lover, rather than one of his students. He turned his head to glance at her, expecting her to already be scrambling for her clothes and the door, before recalling how she'd rested against him in his lap last night, uncaring about her potion boiling over and forgotten.

When he looked at her, he found her eyes were closed, her riotous curls all in a mess and her body sprawled across the covers of his bed. She was asleep. Severus snorted, unsure if he should take it as a compliment that he'd so effectively worn out the young witch, or if he should be offended that she had so little respect for his fearsome presence that she could sleep soundly in his company. He shook his head at the witch, glancing down the length of his body and noting his naked state before allowing his eyes to trail over her bared form, too.

She was lithe and petite, her skin a warm peaches and cream shade with the occasional freckle spattered here and there. She had the spryness of youth, Severus noticed, and he loathed the way his spent cock stirred again, the longer he looked. He should send her away. He should wake her and give her a tongue lashing for being such a wanton little swot, and send her scampering back to her bed in Gryffindor Tower before his teacherly sensibilities could resurface and before any of her ridiculous friends could come looking for her. The last thing he needed was the complication of Potter sticking his nose where it wasn't wanted concerning some of Severus's extracurricular activities.

The brat was already suspicious of Draco and though Dumbledore was well aware of Draco's status as a marked Death Eater, the rest of the Order would likely be less than thrilled. Potter would turn murderous, Severus was sure. He shuddered to think what the wretch might do if he ever learned that one of his best friends was fucking his least favourite teacher. He shuddered to think what  _everyone_  might do if they ever learned he'd fucked the little mudblood. The Dark Lord would surely have a field day. His fellow Death Eaters would laugh and scoff behind their hands that she was a poor substitution for Lily and accuse him of cradle-robbing and Merlin only knew what else.

Minerva would throttle him, he was sure. To have dared lay a finger on one of her favourite little cubs would buy him a one-way ticket to the deepest circles of hell. The woman was surely fiercer and more ruthless than even the Dark Lord and she would make him pay for what he'd done. Severus loathed that there was a part of him – the part that had seen him joining the Death Eaters to begin with – that wanted to revel in the chaos and pain that revealing this little lapse in judgment would rend.

As he watched the curly-haired menace sleep peacefully, Severus's mouth twisted with the thrill of knowing how destroyed she would be if her friends ever learned she'd willing come to his bed. Her standing as such a bright student with exemplary grades would be forever tarnished. Her honour would be besmirched, blackened by the darkness he'd cloaked himself in since his youth. He wondered if her fragile little heart would be shattered to learn she meant nothing to him. Less than nothing. She was nothing more than an outlet for the poison he willingly ingested every time he did Dumbledore's bidding. A warm body to sink into when the chill of his Occlumency grew too dangerous. A toy to play with and manipulate as he liked.

She meant nothing to him. No one meant anything to him. Not Dumbledore. Not the Dark Lord. Not Draco, despite being his godson. Not Lucius and Narcissa, despite being two of his closest living friends. Not Lupin, no matter the secrets he would keep for the wolf. Not Potter, whose eyes so tormented him every time Severus looked in them. Not even the memory of Lily, his first and perhaps his only true friend. Certainly not his own well-being.

Severus wondered if the little witch dozing beside him would be so intrigued by the idea of riding his cock when she learned that he was beyond the ability to feel anything but raging anger and the pleasurable thrills born of sex, torture, and smug satisfaction. He hated that the little twist in his gut made him want to find out. He longed to see the glitter of hurt and betrayal in her eyes. He longed to watch tears well in those chocolate pools only to spill over and trickle down her pale cheeks. He knew he was fucked up and he knew he was a danger to others.

He knew it when he slowly rolled to his side, facing the witch before carefully smoothing the palm of his hand over her lower back. He knew it when he wanted to wake her and ravish her again, for the simple thrill of seeking his own release and for the sake of drawing her deeper so that her shatter would be all the more dramatic when he pushed her from the ledge of security into the cold and harsh pit of reality.

She stirred at his touch, grizzling just a little, and Severus tipped his head to one side, watching her with the curiousness of a sociopath, intrigued by her reactions. She was so expressive in her emotions, wearing her heart on her sleeve and letting every thought and emotion flit across her face in true Gryffindor fashion, even in sleep. When he traced the tips of his fingers over her lower back and then lower, dancing them across her pert little arse, she blinked sleepily, her eyes unfocused, her expression muzzy, before her gaze sharpened and fixed on his face.

He liked the way her breath caught in surprise to find him so close to her and to find herself so vulnerable in his clutches.

"Professor?" she asked very softly, and Severus lips twitched before he slowly shook his head. She blinked, her brow furrowing as she traced her eyes over his morbidly curious, yet lustful expression.

"Oh," she said, and Severus knew he had her ensnared when a slow, sinful smile slipped across her face.

He couldn't fight the urge to dip into her mind, and she put up no resistance to the intrusion, letting him see into her thoughts where memories of the wicked things they'd already done flirted with her fantasies and her curiosities. He was surprised to find that she was far more interested in the darkness and the more seductive realms of magic than he'd have guessed. A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face, feeling very much like a cat playing with a naïve little mouse. It had always amused him that the symbol of Gryffindor was a lion when those belonging to that house had always been the mice that Slytherins like him enjoyed playing with.

And Miss Granger was surely a delectable little mouse. He'd give her that. She was delectable. Under the frumpy school robes she usually wore, and buried beneath an over-extended book bag that she slumped into the weight of, she was lithe and alluring in a way he rather liked. Small enough to break in his hands, if he thought to break her physically, rather than just decimating her mentally. She was delicate, he noted. Delicate, but not afraid to play rough.

When she leaned toward him, her eyes fixed on his lips and obviously unafraid of the feral gleam in his eyes that glinted of her oncoming demise, Severus turned his head. She kissed his cheek, missing his mouth and seeming surprised. He smirked, letting her trail her lips over his cheek and toward the corner of his mouth. He knew she wanted to snog him.

She tried again as he palmed her arse, pulling her closer until she rested on her side, her body flush against his. Severus dodged the kiss again, amused by her attempts even as she smoothed her palm over his chest and down the planes of his abs. She wasn't shy as she dug between their bodies until she gripped his cock and Severus closed his eyes at the tight grip, loathing the little witch just a bit more for the fact that she didn't timidly touch him, or shy away from being so forward. He should've known it wasn't her nature to be shy, something she proved when she kissed along the length of his jaw and nipped his earlobe gently, making his cock twitch even as she looped a leg up over his hipbone, digging her heel into his thigh and pulling him closer.

She smoothed her hand slowly up and down the length of his cock and Severus enjoyed the sensation, feeling his blood beginning to stir and the magic inside his waking up with all the languidness of a cat stretching in the sun. She drew in a shaky little breath at the first brush of his magic along the length of hers and he wondered if she could feel the dark and seductive power of it. He teased one of her nipples, rolling the little pebbled peak between his thumb and his fingers, liking the way she arched into the touch, pressing herself to him more firmly. She rocked against him a little, obviously craving his attention further south as she stroked his cock so surely.

He had no doubt that she'd done that before. Many times. A little niggle of curiosity made him wonder who else she'd fucked when she was still so young, just recently seventeen. Abandoning her nipple, Severus slid his fingers over the dip of her waist and the flare of her hip, tracing his fingertips over the top of her thighs before burrowing between them. She latched onto the side of his neck when he drove two fingers deep inside her, her passage slick with their mingled essences after the last round.

"Mmmmm," she hummed, peppering his neck with little kisses and nips that tickled more than they annoyed him. She altered her rhythm on his cock to match the pace he set with his fingers and Severus thoroughly enjoyed tormenting her.

When he rolled to her back, looming over her and settling himself between her thighs, she looked at him with eyes that glittered with lust. Her magic brushed his own and he knew it would be a very dangerous thing for him to fuck her right then. He could deplete her magic if he took her now. Severus's lips twitched as he aligned himself at her centre before thrusting in hard.

She huffed, arching into him, clamping around him tightly. Her magic fizzed along the length of his and without meaning to, Severus slipped into her mind once more.

He took her hard, thrusting deep, his eyes fixed on her as she writhed under him. He wasn't gentle. Severus wasn't sure he even knew  _how_  to be gentle anymore. If she minded, it didn't show. Her thoughts were a kaleidoscope of colours and images that blurred together so fast he was almost dizzy with trying to follow them. Most of them were sexual, flashes of her past experiences mingled with fantasies she'd never voice and interspersed with little snippets of him whenever the darkness inside him got the better of him. The wicked heat reflected back at him inside her thoughts intrigued him and Severus wondered how she couldn't see the danger she was in merely being in his presence. He wondered if maybe she did see it, she just wasn't afraid.

He wondered what that said about her as a person. For a breathless, terrible moment, Severus wondered what it might take to lure her down the same dark path he trod. There could be no denying that while she often bored him to tears when he marked her essays with the way she regurgitated information, she was highly logical and exceedingly clever. The terrible power she could wield if properly moulded and shown the seductiveness of the Dark arts would surely be glorious to behold.

She huffed quietly from beneath him and Severus blinked, focusing on her face as he withdrew from her mind, still fucking her into the mattress. She was reaching for his face, trying to kiss him and Severus realised he'd been subconsciously evading each one. She looked at him imploringly, obviously craving the feel of his mouth on hers.

"I don't," he told her quietly, holding her gaze so she'd see it wasn't personal or some silly thing he was making up. He simply didn't kiss on the mouth. His mother had taught him as a boy that there were things one might be forced to do with one's body, one's mind, one's morality, and even one's mortality. But doing things with the heart usually began with the lips. She'd taught him that to kiss was to express the purest and most innocent of loves, and that kisses on the lips should be reserved only for those one loved.

"Ever?" Hermione asked, frowning as she relaxed back against the pillows rather than continuing to strain for a kiss she'd never receive.

"Not in twenty-one years," he admitted, and her eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh," she said, and Severus could tell her wanted to ask why.

He didn't offer explanation, picking up his pace and fucking her even harder. She didn't ask. Maybe she knew better. Maybe she didn't want to know the answer in case it was something terrible. Maybe she was smarter than he'd given her credit for.

Rather than asking, she tangled her hands into his hair, closing her eyes and arching under him. The new angle let him slide impossibly deeper and he watched her face as she focused on the sensations he was inflicting upon her. She rocked against him, her ankles locked against the small of his back and her pert breasts jiggling with the force of every thrust. Severus shook his head, pushing more of his magic at her and watching her breath come faster. Her magic crackled along the length of his in return, fizzing and hissing like an out of control firecracker, without direction as she slowly lost control.

It was clear to him that she'd never experienced sex like this, where her magic rushed over her partner. She didn't know what to do, how to control it, or where to direct it for the best results. Supposing that it was as selfish as it was selfless, Severus closed his eyes, trying to show her how to wield her magic with intent, rather than simply unleashing it. She opened her eyes when he used his to delve beneath her skin and make her feel things she'd never felt.

Her eyes widened, her mouth opening into a breathless 'o', her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails cutting into him as the sensation pushed the limits of her magic and her self-control. Severus knew he was wearing a smug expression, his eyes glittering with feral heat as he manipulated her body to break her into a million pieces. She tried to push back with her magic then, flailing mentally, trembling physically, her magic ceasing its simple brush and instead suddenly piercing his own and Severus hissed at the sensation. It felt like being impaled on a spike of ice.

He'd never known a sensation like it and he clenched his jaw against it, shocked that she'd done it, though it seemed accidental. When she shattered, it was like a million tiny snowflakes filling his soul and blanketing him in the strange stinging sort of warmth. She gave a soft, breathless cry, her body milking his, her fingers digging into his back, her legs tight around him, securing him deep inside her while her magic and his tormented each other.

She pulled him over the edge unexpectedly when a shudder rocked through her as his magic pulsed around hers, attacking the invasion inside himself for the intruder it was and shivering at each brush. He'd never have expected that.

"Fucking hell," he hissed, squeezing his eyes closed as he shuddered with release.

She felt like snowfall, with all the bite of the cold, and all the sweet warmth one might find huddled by the fire while a blizzard raged. Severus hadn't expected that. He'd expected her magic to feel like fire – sharp and consuming and so hot it would melt everything it touched. He'd assumed, based on her wild curls and the brimming personality that so often had her bouncing in her seat wanting to answer questions, that she would be a barely contained firestorm. If he was being completely honest, he'd formed those expectations because of another clever muggleborn witch he'd known who was all fire and sweet infernos and wicked intellect.

For a witch that was so passionate as to fight for House Elf rights, and a girl known to fight back against prejudice, she certainly kept a lot concealed. Severus blinked, blindsided, his elbows shaking with the urge to give out as his cock emptied deep inside her. He felt all tangled up in her, her magic shattered and scattered amongst him like the snow that blanketed the castle. Little flurries of it played along his psyche and from the way she was still breathing heavily and clinging to him so tightly, he knew that she was struggling to comprehend and understand how to tolerate the bits of his magic that interwoven with hers in return.

Expecting fire and finding ice, he knew she would be in for an interesting few days until the magic transference between them faded.

"Gods, Severus," she whispered, bewildered. "What did we just  _do_?"

Severus buried his face in her curls, shaking his head, knowing he'd never be able to explain, even if he tried.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

* * *

Hermione tried to slow her breathing, her hands still clutching at Snape's back, her heart racing inside her chest. She didn't rightly know what they'd just done, but it felt strange. Strange and exciting and entirely too dangerous for words. She felt like bits of his magic had delved under her skin, burrowing in like ticks and making homes for themselves wherever they liked. When he'd simply been tormenting her with it, it had felt almost like a strange mixture of being hexed and having him invade her mind.

But this was something else. This felt like a part of him was inside her. And sweet Circe, he was heady and seductive and utterly enthralling. Hermione had never felt anything like it in all her life. Whenever he invaded her mind it felt slightly uncomfortable – almost like there wasn't enough room inside her head for both of them. When he'd been brushing his magic along the length of her, it had felt like being petted with electricity – like zinging touches that felt sinful and delicious and made her yearn for more. But the feeling coursing through her now was something else, again. It was like his magic had jumped from inside of him, to fill her up instead and Hermione was sure she might be swooning because his magic was just so  _much_.

She didn't think she could've described it if she tried. He felt cold and warm and so sinfully dark that she wanted to recoil as much as she wanted to wrap herself in his magic until she couldn't breathe. He felt like midnight walks in the snow. He felt like velvet against soft skin. He felt like the thrill that raced through her whenever she stood too close to the edge of the Astronomy Tower – dangerous and terrifying, but so tingly that she wanted to get even closer. He was breathing heavily as he rested against her, his face buried in her hair, his forehead pressed to the side of her neck and his soft breath puffing against her skin, making her tingle.

Hermione traced her fingers over his back, feeling the webs of scaring that littered his skin, but unable to focus on them and unwilling to ask about them when it felt like he'd lodged a part of himself inside her that might never shake free.

"Did we… just…" Hermione began, her mind fuzzy with contentment, so satiated that she was sure she could drift off right there beneath him.

"Transference," Severus muttered against her neck. " _Essentia ceangal_."

Hermione blinked, her eyes widening slowly.

"But that's…"

"Rare," Snape finished for her. "Only possible if two magic wielders have the same core-magic type."

"But your magic feels nothing like mine," she murmured, her fingers swirling patterns over his skin restlessly.

"You're supposed to be fiery," he muttered. "Ice is… uncommon."

"Isn't earth magic the most common?" She frowned. "Why would you think I'm supposed to be fiery?"

"No questions, Granger," he grumbled without moving off her, apparently too spent to tolerate her whirring thoughts. She huffed in surprise when he suddenly rolled the two of them across the mattress, his arms sliding beneath her shoulders and twisting her until she was sprawled across his chest.

Before she could ask what he was doing, he reached for the drawers by the bed, digging around blindly. Hermione sat up slowly, still straddling him and impaled upon his glorious cock.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, watching him picking up phials of Pain Relief Potion, Disinfection Potions, Bruise Salve pots, Burn Salve, Dreamless Sleep potions and an array of other medicinal potions, shoving them aside just as quickly when he determined with just a glance at the colour and consistency what they were.

"Had a contraceptive in here somewhere," he said, sounding like even talking was too much effort. She frowned when he snatched up a pain potion and drank it quickly before continuing his search.

"Are you in pain?" she asked. "You told me you weren't hurt."

"What did I say about annoying questions, Granger?" he snapped, fishing deeper into the drawer and finally locating a contraceptive potion. It was another of the abortifacient potions he'd given her earlier and when he located it he handed it to her, eyeing her expectantly.

"Thank you," Hermione said politely, accepting it from him and unstoppering it. As she brought it to her lips, he flicked his wrist in the direction of a bookshelf to the left of his bed that made up one entire wall and Hermione almost choked, intrigued as she felt the flare of his magic both from inside him and the little sparkles of it that had burrowed inside of her.

It tingled in the best way and she watched with appreciation as he summoned a book from the shelf wandlessly and wordlessly. When she finished her potion, he took the empty phial from her and handed her a book about core magic.

"You're going to make me research the topic for myself, rather than discussing it with me?" she asked, amused.

He fixed her one of his droll stares that could make even the smartest students feel stupid.

"Have I ever encouraged discussion over private research?" he challenged, and Hermione's lips twitched.

"No, sir," she said, amused.

Hermione tipped her head to one side when he made a face at her, apparently not liking to be called 'sir' when she was still balanced on his cock. He looked tired, she noticed. Spent. Lazily content and strangely peaceful following their torrid encounter. She couldn't hide her smile at the thought that she'd made him feel marginally better, even if he'd likely feel worse and be even more foul-tempered about this tomorrow.

He stared back at her in return and Hermione wondered if he was waiting for her to get off him and be on her way, or if he was expectantly waiting for her to read the book he'd given to her. Since she couldn't exactly be seen returning it to him if she took it with her to her dormitory for the night, Hermione concluded he must be waiting for her to read and so without a word she opened the book, resting it across his bare chest and scanning the contents for the part about Meld Magic and Core Fusion.

"What do you think you're doing?" Snape asked, and Hermione flicked her eyes up to meet his obsidian pair once more.

"Reading," she said, giving him a look to suggest that it was a rather stupid question.

He curled his lip at her for the disrespect and Hermione bit her lip on a laugh.

"Are you going to get off me, Miss Granger? Or do you plan to do all your reading in this manner from now on?" he wanted to know.

Hermione smirked.

"I wouldn't mind reading like this for all future projects, actually. Though I'm not sure how effective it would be for my concentration," Hermione mused, and she'd swear his lips twitched in amusement, though he refused to smile.

"Just don't wake me up," he said before closing his eyes without kicking her out or ordering her off him. He  _must_  be tired.

Hermione grinned, unreasonably pleased that he wasn't returning to his much less pleasant teacherly persona right away like he had last night. Doing her best to keep from squirming, though she couldn't resist clenching her pelvic floor just once, Hermione opened the book he'd given her to the correct page. He cracked one eye open to glare at her, though his lips twitched again, and Hermione smiled innocently before lowering her gaze to her book. He shook his head slowly, but he didn't say anything else and Hermione dove into the information she'd been given.

The transference of magic they'd just managed was rare because it was a practice that had fallen out of fashion with the invention of wands. Before wands, back when Magic was wielded wandlessly, witches and wizards had lived and practiced magic in covens based on their specific type of core magic. Everyone had a core type – a flavour to their magic that dictated their level of power and the source they drew their power from. Earth, as she'd expected, was the most common core type. Most magical beings wielded at least some extent of earthen core magic. It was what grounded them and what they drew their magic from. Fire was closely associated with passion. Those with fiery core magic tended to be hot headed and prone to boiling over. She almost laughed to think he'd thought her to be fiery, when he was the one always boiling over about everything.

Water was rare, and Air tended to only be associated with being like the fairies and the dragons. Wizards rarely had airy core-magic, though as she read the characteristics of those who did, Hemione wondered if Luna didn't have an air-core. There were other, rarer types of cores too. Those whose magic had untapped depths tended to have icy cores and Hermione frowned as she read the characteristics.

"This doesn't describe me at all," she muttered. " _Ice cored wielders are prone to secrecy and tend to prefer their own company to that of others._  I despise my own company. No one can argue me into a huff better than me. Are you sure this is what's going on with our magic?"

Snape cracked one eye open again, glaring at her, and Hermione recalled that he'd told her not to wake him.

"What?" she huffed. "You're not asleep yet. And this is a bit more important than sleep. You have all night for sleeping when I leave."

"Will that be soon?" he asked mildly.

"Not if you keep snarking at me rather than answering my questions."

"I don't look forward to the coming days. Remind me to assign you to detentions with Minerva for the next three days, Miss Granger," he snapped.

"What? Why?" Hermione frowned. "I'm not being rude."

"No, you're just channelling me," he muttered.

"I'm unsure if that means you find yourself annoying, or that I'm annoying when channelling you. And why am I channelling you? This only says that people with the same core could do group-casting projects because their magic was compatible. We didn't group cast anything. We just shagged."

"Miss Granger?" he interrupted, his brow furrowing in annoyance and his eyes flashing with warning. "If you're not going to read the entire book in search of your answers  _before_  quizzing me for them, you will be relegated back to the realm of annoying student rather than passingly intriguing distraction and I will throw you out of my rooms with every ounce of venom I can muster."

Hermione knew there was something funky going on when she silently sneered at him, making a face. He narrowed his eyes before sighing in annoyance. She huffed when he bucked under her, his hands gripping her hips painfully tight.

"Your insolence is annoying and unattractive, Miss Granger," he warned quietly, stilling just as suddenly when her head dropped back thanks to the way the sparkles of his magic interwoven with hers suddenly throbbed as he prodded her g-spot.

"Your impatience is frustrating," Hermione replied.

"There is nothing exciting about the research or the fusion, you silly little witch," he snapped. "We have similar magical cores. Whilst fucking, magic is expended, whether those fucking have matching cores or not. It's a transference of energy that heightens the experience for every magic-user but achieves little else with no lasting consequences unless they overdo it when they're underage – which can lead to temporary depletion the same way any wielding can. If, however, those shagging have matching cores, and the magic is directed  _at_  the other person, rather than against them, this happens."

He flicked his hand between the two of them while Hermione trembled with the way his magic was flaring and making her teeth chatter with its dark and alluring power.

"But what is  _this?"_  she asked when he glared at her.

"This is what happens when inept little fools incorrectly use their magic on someone. In your attempt to delve your magic against mine when I did so to you, you used too much force and rather than just brushing against mine, or weaving yours with mine like a snake through sand, you stabbed your magic into mine. You pierced the fabric of my magic and invaded it, causing mine to attack yours, which combined with your poorly timed orgasm, shattering it from an icicle into a blizzard and losing control of the magic. Just as magic leaves your body when you cast a spell, bits of your magic have left your body but without the intent to create anything or inflict any kind of effect on anything, it doesn't burn out. It just lingers, and will do so until it's expended."

"But how did yours…. I can feel it," she frowned at him, waving a hand at herself indicatively.

"When yours shattered to settle everywhere in me, mine was still attacking and has invaded yours in return. It will fade in a few days."

"And until then?"

"Until then carrying someone else's magic tends to cause you to channel some of the personality traits they exhibit that are rooted in their magic. Meaning you will express my lack of patience, my temper, and my surliness until it wears off. And I will probably receive curious looks from my colleagues because if they talk to me, I might squirm in my seat with the undeniable urge to answer their questions."

Hermione frowned at him.

"Won't that be…"

"Inconvenient?" he suggested. "Extremely."

"Obvious," she corrected. "If I'm acting like you, and you're acting like me, won't people be suspicious?"

His mouth twisted in annoyance as he nodded sharply. "Probably. Though they probably assume your core is fire, as I did, not ice. They'll chalk your grumpiness up to PMT and my chattiness up to holiday cheer."

"Do you often experience holiday cheer?" Hermione asked, unable to keep from giggling.

"Perhaps it's a month for firsts." He retorted coldly. "If you're going to keep giggling, go away."

Hermione was surprised he hadn't already sent her away, if she was being honest.

"Do you want me to get off?" She asked seriously.

"My understanding was that you already had. Four times," he smirked and Hermione blushed.

She fidgeted, unable to think of anything to say in the face of this sinful and wickedly amused Severus Snape. He chuckled darkly, closing his eyes and adjusting her weight on top of him slightly, apparently leaving the decision to her of whether she wanted to stay or go.

Hermione bit her lip, glancing at the clock ticking softly on his bedside table. She should go. The last thing she needed was to get caught sneaking out of Professor Snape's private quarters. Harry and Ron might be looking for her, worried that she was still out of bed so late. They might think she'd been hurt or waylaid returning to the common room after her detention. No, surely they'd use the Map to make sure she was fine.

The Map!

"Bugger!" Hermione exclaimed, scrambling to get off Snape and hissing in surprise when his eyes snapped open and his hands closed over her hips, pinning her instantly. His reflexes would've unsettled her were she not panicking.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"The map," she said, and he eyed her like she'd lost her mind. "It's after midnight and I'm not back in the common room, and Harry will be worried, and so he's probably searching for me on the Marauder's map thinking you or Malfoy have killed me. I need to go. Now."

"Fucking Potter!" Severus exclaimed, hoisting her off him and sitting up, scowling so fiercely he could curdle milk.

Hermione scrambled off the bed, searching for her clothes amid the pile of his robes where they were strewn across the floor in a trail of carnal destruction. She wriggled into her knickers and her bra, diving back down for her jeans and flinging Snape's trousers at him as she went.

"This is a problem," she told him as she fastened the button on her jeans.

"Miss Granger, stating the obvious will not alter the situation."

"Oh, don't 'Miss Granger' me like you're about to turn back into the rude, mean git who gave me detention today. If you're getting stroppy, just wait until I'm out the door, could you?"

"Insolence is unattractive," he snapped at her.

"So is rudeness," Hermione retorted. "Right. I'm dressed. I have my wand. Oh, bloody hell, where is my other shoe?"

She dove back to the floor to peer under the bed and she froze when Professor Snape began to laugh.

"What?" She demanded, lifting her head to glare at him whilst kneeling in the middle of his bedroom floor. "I'm not holding it."

"Panic does not serve you well, Miss Granger," he said, looking amused as he flicked his wand and Summoned the shoe from its hiding spot under a chair by the bed.

"Magic," he said as he handed it to her.

"Right," Hermione muttered, feeling stupid. "Wand, shoes, clothes, knickers on the right way. Shirt not inside out. Hair... well it's always a mess, so who's going to notice? And my bag is in the classroom. Done. I'm leaving. Thanks for the endorphins, Professor."

She was hurrying for the door as she spoke, and Snape caught her before she could dart through it. Hermione raised her eyebrows, trying valiantly to keep her eyes on his face rather than his bare chest.

He silently handed her a scroll of parchment; another note to excuse her for being in the corridors at so late an hour.

"If you keep giving me these when you usually never excuse anyone for being out of bed late, people will ask questions. Harry and Ron will have enough questions without the other teachers getting curious," Hermione said quietly, though she was grateful for the permission slip, just the same.

"Holiday cheer," he smirked before flicking his wand. "Take these with you, as well."

Hermione watched, her eyes wide, as four books levitated off his personal bookshelf, stacking themselves neatly and landing in her outstretched hands. She darted a confused look at the surly Potions Master, shocked by his actions.

"You're… loaning me books from your personal collection?" Hermione asked, confused and a little worried about him. "Are you alright, sir? Gods, you're not under the Imperius curse or some terrible compulsion, are you?"

She pulled her wand from her pocket and flicked it at him, casting a Diagnostic Charm and trying to detect anything that might be compelling him to shag her and to offer her things.

"I'm of sound mind, Miss Granger," he said, though his lips twitched. "However, you will need an excuse to hand to Potter should you return and find him waiting for you with that infernal map. This provides you one. If he knows you have been in my quarters, you can tell him you badgered me into loaning you some books that you certainly won't find in the school library."

Hermione glanced at the pile of books in her arms, flipping through the titles and frowning to know they were all Dark texts.

"These are… I can't let Harry and Ron see me reading books like this, Severus," she whispered, though there was a little thrill rushing through her at the very idea of reading them. More than once during her Hogwarts career, she had craved the chance to peruse the Restricted Section of the library at her leisure, desperately craving the chance to learn about all branches of magic – even those considered dangerous and wicked.

"History books?" he asked, raising one eyebrow in challenge without chastising or correcting her for using his first name.

"History on Dark Magic," Hermione pointed out.

"Not so very long ago, Miss Granger, magic wasn't divided into Light and Dark categories. Magic was just magic. The distinction between Light and Dark is recent; a classification laid down by the Ministry when they sought ways to better control the magical population and to better keep track of the tenor of the magic being performed by witches and wizards, for the sake of ensuring we didn't continue to reveal ourselves to the muggles, thus better avoiding persecution. Before that there was no Light and Dark colouring of magic. There were just the magical arts and all forms of it were studied at will. Even here at Hogwarts."

"They still do so at Durmstrang, don't they?" Hermione asked.

"They do. These books are some of those on the current fourth year reading list for all Durmstrang students. A well-rounded education begins by casting aside the limits placed on knowledge by those too fearful to seek it, Miss Granger. Are you too fearful to seek a full and in-depth understanding of magic in its many forms?"

Hermione shook her head solemnly. Snape's lips twitched again, and he nodded at the door, obviously dismissing her. She pursed her lip for a moment.

"When do you want them back?" she asked.

"When you're finished with them," he said, a knowing little grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you," she murmured, unable to hold his gaze when his eyes glittered with that wicked little gleam that ought to have made her nervous.

He nodded, though she only saw him do so out the corner of her eye when her gaze trailed down the expanse of his bare chest, noting the many scars littering his flesh and the faintest dusting of black hair across his chest. Her heart stuttered just a bit and Hermione knew she needed to go before she could do something foolish like throwing the books on the floor and hurling herself at him, begging that he ravish her again until she knew every line of his sinuous form.

"Goodnight Severus," she said softly when she lifted her eyes to his face once more, regarding him by the dim light flickering in the fireplace across the room.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said, almost making her trip in surprise to hear him use her first name. Her eyes widened just a little bit and Hermione blinked in surprise. She wondered if it was even legal for one man to have been given so sinful and alluring a voice. It certainly wasn't fair.

But then, she knew his thoughts about fairness. Nodding her head once, a little smile pulling at her lips, Hermione hurried to the door without another word. He watched her go, she knew. She could feel his gaze slithering over her as she moved until she disappeared from sight and Hermione wondered what she was supposed to do about the racing tempo of her heart and the terrible giddiness suffusing her. She'd never be able to sleep now, even if he had just shagged her into a stupor.

Collecting her bag from the classroom on her way out, Hermione practically skipped through the corridors.

"Oi!" Mr Filch's oily tone invaded upon her giddiness four floors later and Hermione sighed. "What are you doing out of bed? We'll just see what your head of house has to say about this!"

"Good evening, Mr Filch," Hermione said politely. "I actually have a pass to be in the halls so late."

She held it out to him, thinking that it really was a wretched dash of cold water across her senses to have the delicious memories of her evening with Severus interrupted by the likes of Argus Filch.

He snatched the note from her and unfurled it, reading it by one of the torches that had lit up with her proximity.

"Snape, eh?" Mr Filch grunted. "I've got half a mind to drag you back down there and confirm this is from him, girl."

Hermione smiled sweetly. "Considering the mood he was in after I badgered him during my detention, I wouldn't recommend taking me anywhere near him. But if you'd really like to, Mr Filch, I won't make a fuss."

"Grumpy again, is he?"

"He's been in the presence of a curious and impertinent student for hours. What do you think?" Hermione replied dryly and Filch scowled before thrusting the note back into her hands.

"Fine. Go on then, get. But I'll be asking him about this in the morning."

"I'd wait until he's had his coffee, if I were you," she smiled widely. "Goodnight, Mr Filch."

He grumbled at her, waving her away before he prowled off again. No other teacher interrupted her trek back to Gryffindor Tower and Hermione was tired by the time she reached the Common Room, having to prod the Fat Lady awake to gain entrance to the room. She wanted to crawl through the shower and dive under the covers to sleep and dream wicked dreams of doing even naughtier things to her favourite teacher.

What she didn't want to do was fight, but from the sight of Harry Potter sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire, his eyes fixed on her as she entered the common room, and his hands clutching the Marauder's Map, elbows resting on his knees, she suspected she was about to endure one.

"Where've you been?" he asked in a low voice and Hermione glanced around the common room, noting that Ron had waited for her, too. Unlike Harry, Ron was dozing in his chair, snoring softly, his head lolling at an angle that would probably crick it if he didn't move shortly.

"Detention," Hermione said. "You didn't have to wait up for me, Harry."

She tried to smile at him, fear coiling in her stomach as she wondered if she smelled like Professor Snape.

"It's after midnight, Hermione. No teacher keeps students this late after curfew," he said. "Not even gits like Snape."

Hermione sighed.

"Well, he did. I reorganized that entire storeroom. And had to do some of his marking. And I might've inadvertently pushed him into a debate about magical theory," Hermione admitted, biting her lip, hoping Harry wouldn't be able to tell she was lying.

"Been watching you," he said quietly. "He left for a long time. Wasn't anywhere in the castle."

"I think he was summoned to a Death Eater meeting," Hermione bit her lip, nodding. "He hissed and grabbed his arm while I was cleaning out the storeroom. And then he left for ages. He didn't dismiss me, so I didn't think it'd be a good idea to just leave."

Harry narrowed his eyes behind his glasses, looking like he didn't believe her.

"You were in his rooms," he said, voice low and angry, filled with suspicion.

"He loaned me these," Hermione said in a small voice, hoisting the stack of books Snape had given.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, and Hermione wondered if he'd ever sounded so insolent and aggressive when speaking to her before. Maybe he'd had a bad evening. "Snape? The greasy bat of the dungeons? The rotten bastard who took more than a hundred points from Gryffindor  _and_  made nine kids cry today?  _He_  just decided to invite you into his private quarters and loan you his personal books? What are they? Cook books for the most dangerous potions in the world? How To Be A Death Eater 101?"

"History books," Hermione said quietly. "Look, Harry, I don't know what you  _think_  I was doing, or what you're attempting to imply, but I'm not sure I like your tone. Just because Professor Snape is prejudiced against you doesn't mean he's horrible to everyone."

"He gave you a month of detention for something Peeves did. Without proof."

Hermione narrowed her eyes on her best friend, feeling a terrible thrum of Severus's sinful magic where it was nestled against her own.

"He had proof, Harry. Unlike you, I don't have an invisibility cloak to dive under whenever I see a teacher coming. I was in the Potions rooms last night trying to brew Bruise Salve – for you, I might add – and he caught me. Since I was able to unlock the storeroom today without asking him to do it – even though he specifically wards it against students raiding it – he knew it was me. I'd been in there. The cupboard's wards had been incorrectly reapplied  _and_  he caught me with ingredients I wasn't supposed to have."

"And didn't punish you for it last night?" Harry demanded. "Every time he sees me, he docks points. You didn't lose any last night."

"I got lectured," Hermione argued. "Not all of us have so little control over our tongues that we antagonize him into a rage, Harry."

"If that bastard was inviting you into his rooms after a Death Eater meeting, Hermione, then I would bet every galleon in my Gringotts vault that it's with ulterior motives."

"What ulterior motive could he have for giving me history books, Harry?" she demanded, thought a terrible sense of dread filled her.

"History of what?" Harry challenged.

"Core Fusion and group casting before the invention of wands. The origins of magic, itself."

"Dark Magic?" Harry pressed.

"Some," Hermione nodded. "Magic wasn't always divided into Light and Dark like it is now, you know?"

"So, he's running off to meet with Voldemort and returning in good enough spirits to lend one of his least favourite students books about Dark Magic?" Harry summarised. "And you think he  _doesn't_  have any ulterior motives. For a smart girl, that's pretty bloody thick, Hermione."

"You know what, Harry?" Hermione narrowed her eyes, feeling her temper flare, pushed all the more by Snape's magic. "Maybe it's all a plot Voldemort cooked up. Maybe Professor Snape is going to forget all his morals and teacherly responsibilities and seduce a student like me by giving me a few books and engaging in a heated debate. Maybe Voldemort gave him a mission to worm his way into my affections with the intention of getting to you. Maybe he wants inside information of the Chosen One. Or  _maybe_  Professor Snape just happened to lose his temper when I argued back about a particular note pertaining to Core Fusion and he decided to prove me wrong by dragging me into his rooms and fetching the proof of his points.  _Maybe_ he and I are mature enough as student and teacher to disagree over something without it devolving to violence and name-calling and insolent little comments designed to needle the other into a rage.  _Maybe_  I have a good relationship with all of my teachers, including Professor Snape, and I don't need to be interrogated for having a discussion with the man."

Harry's eyes glittered with fury and accusation.

"What if he is, Hermione?" Harry demanded. "He's a complete git. He'd never help you without motive. He'd never tolerate  _anyone_  talking back to him and then reward the behaviour with books."

"Oh, so you'd call it a reward to be given extra homework?" Hermione challenged.

"No, but you would," Harry said quietly.

"What exactly are you accusing me of here, Harry?" Hermione demanded, propping her fist against her hip and glaring at him hotly.

"Nothing," Harry snapped. "Forget it. Go ahead and play nice with the stupid fucker. And when it bites you on the arse and I don't tell you things anymore because Snape's trying to worm information about us out of you to feed back to Voldemort, don't blame me."

"Do you actually imagine there is  _anything_  that you know that Snape doesn't?" Hermione hissed, stomping closer to glare at her friend. "Are you that arrogant? Or just that deluded? Do you really think there's anything that Dumbledore tells you that he doesn't share with Professor Snape before sending him into the viper's pit that every Death Eater meeting must surely be? He risks his  _life_ , Harry. Do you get that? He's a double-agent working to bring Voldemort down, returning to the monster's side again and again, hoodwinking one of the most powerful wizards alive and playing the part of dutiful spy in the Order whilst feeding us information that decimates Voldemort's plans and probably doesn't make him very popular in their camp. What's worse is that among the Order he is reviled for his Death Eater connections and he gets no gratitude for risking his life. If it weren't for him and the information he passes to the Order, you've probably have been dead by now, Harry."

"Now you're defending him?" Harry snarled, shooting to his feet and glaring down at her.

"She always defends him, mate," Ron interrupted their stand-off tiredly. "That's her thing. Championing the down-trodden. And you don't get more pathetic and down-trodden than Snape. Let's all just go to bed, and everything will be fine in the morning, yeah?"

"She was in his rooms, Ron," Harry argued hotly. Ron sighed, scratching at his chest through the knitted jumper his mother had given him to Christmas two years ago.

"So what, mate?" Ron said around a yawn. "It's bloody  _Snape_. And this is Hermione we're talking about. What do you think they were doing in there? Shagging? Come  _on_ , Harry."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"He gave her books on Dark Magic," Harry insisted.

Ron looked at Hermione and quirked an eyebrow. Hermione held one out to him – the one about Core Fusion and group wielding.

"It's a history book," he sighed. "Look at this, mate. Core Fusion. It's how all wizards used to practice magic before wands were invented. Boring stuff. It's not like it's blood rituals or human sacrifices, and believe me, wizarding history is riddled with those."

Harry deflated a little at Ron's blasé dismissal of the material she'd been given.

"You don't find it odd that Snape – bastard, arsehole fucking  _Snape_  – would lend Hermione anything? You've seen the way he talks to her."

"Like every other teacher talks to her?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "He's a git to you mate, and usually pretty rude to me, especially when I cock up my potions. But the only time he's ever been openly hurtful or prattish to Hermione is that time he made fun of her teeth after that hex she caught in fourth year that made them grow big, you remember?"

"He calls her an insufferable know-it-all every chance he gets," Harry argued.

"Mate, she  _is_  a know-it-all. And she can be pretty bloody insufferable when she gets all condescending because she's smarter than everyone – no offence, Hermione," Ron said. "So, he kept her late in detention, so what?"

"And dragged her into his private chamber. That's his bedroom, Ron. He took Hermione into his bedroom."

"Are you implying that Hermione is some kind of trollop with such bad taste that she'd be seduced by  _Snape?_ " Ron asked, looking a little green around the gills. "Blimey, Harry, I reckon you owe Hermione an apology if that's what you think. She's a lot of things, but she's no tart. Especially not for a greasy old git like Snape. He's got twenty years on us."

Hermione dug her nails into the palm of her hand, trying to keep from blushing at Ron's easy dismissal as he listed just a few of the reasons that what she'd been doing with Professor Snape was foolish.

"So, he just loaned her books from his private collection for no reason?" Harry demanded. "He wouldn't loan us a cup of sugar, Ron."

"Well, yeah. But that's us. Hermione's the best in our year. Best in the whole bloody school, probably. Teachers like smart kids who do their homework and engage with lessons. Why wouldn't he loan her books? It's his job to teach, right?"

Harry scowled, narrowing his eyes and looking between the pair of them as though they'd both betrayed him for not incorrectly vilifying Professor Snape as they'd always made the mistake of doing in the past. He huffed angrily, shoved his glasses back up the length of his nose where they'd slipped down, and stomped off up the stairs to bed without another word to either of them.

Ron shook his head, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry about him," he said to Hermione quietly, glancing over at her. "You alright?"

Hermione nodded.

"I'm fine. Thank you for… you know… standing up for me and not accusing me of ludicrous things," Hermione said weakly, her shoulders slumping.

Ron nodded.

"I'm thick, but I'm not stupid, you know?" he grinned at her, chuckling self-deprecatingly. "You're alright, though? Snape didn't give you any trouble?"

Hermione shook her head, smiling gently.

"He was fine. Made me dissect beetles and chop flobberworms and things before hurrying off to his meeting."

"And when he came back?" Ron asked, surprising her when he stepped closer and tucked a stray curl behind her ear affectionately.

"A bit off, but that was probably the Occlumency. He wasn't horrible or even rude to me. He got a bit annoyed with the way I'd graded some of his essays for the younger students – apparently I'm too helpful in my criticisms."

Ron laughed. "Probably didn't call them stupid often enough."

Hermione chuckled, nodding. "I believed 'dunderheaded' is the word."

Ron shook his head, laughing some more. "Right, well, if you're all good, I'm going to bed. I'll see if I can calm Hot-Head down so he won't be a right foul git all day tomorrow, yeah?"

Hermione smiled. "That would be nice."

"Won't work," he said. "Might have to pummel him with a pillow until he loses his temper and lets some of the poison out," Ron sighed.

"Please don't do anything silly, like starting a fist fight," Hermione asked.

"It'd do him good, you know?" Ron told her. "Bill and Charlie stand by a good fight to help you think straight again."

"Harry needs our support, not to beaten bloody," Hermione reminded him.

"He all but called you tramp, Hermione," Ron reminded her.

Hermione sighed, frowning a little. "Well… alright, so maybe he  _deserves_  a few good wallops, but now is hardly the time."

"Maybe tomorrow?" Ron suggested. "You can wallop him with one of those heavy Arithmancy books you're always lugging around. I'll hold him, you hit."

"You're just scared he'd hit back if you tried it," Hermione teased.

"He would too, the prat," Ron said, laughing again. "Alright, I'm going to bed. G'night, love."

He surprised her when he leaned in and dropped an affectionate kiss on her lips. He froze almost immediately after doing it, too.

"Uh…shit," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry, Hermione. I forget sometimes that we're not… you know."

"It's alright," she said softly, her cheeks turning pink as she recalled with startling clarity all the tawdry things she and Ron had done to each other over the summer. Not that they'd been dating. They'd been fooling around since the summer between fourth and fifth year, having gotten entirely too bored one day at Headquarters and begun wrestling before their raging teenage hormones had gotten the better of them.

No one knew, of course, and they'd decided to keep things entirely casual. Not even Harry or Ginny knew that during the summer, when no one else was around, they sometimes snuck off to snog, which usually turned to shagging in short order.

"It's not," Ron shook his head. "We had a deal that this… whatever is it we were doing… was only a summer-time thing. And, you know, I've uh… kind of got a thing going with Lavender… so, um… probably shouldn't be causally kissing you."

Hermione laughed. She wanted to curl her lip in disgust at the idea that he fancied Lavender, but she bit her tongue on her thoughts regarding her roommate, doubting Ron would have anything favourable to say if Hermione revealed that she kind of had a thing going with Severus Snape.

"Our secret, then?" Hermione asked.

"One of… how many?" Ron asked, grinning.

Hermione swatted him. "Too many," she laughed. "But don't worry about it, yeah? One little peck between best friends is nothing, given the things we've done to one another in the past."

Ron's ears turned red, but he grinned sheepishly. "I s'pose not. You're too good to me, Hermione."

"I know," she said, laughing.

He made a face at her before pulling on the front of her jumper, tugging her in close and dropping a kiss to the top of her head. Hermione smiled and looped one arm around his waist, cuddling into his chest appreciatively. Ron hugged her back briefly before he pulled away, yawning loudly again and heading for the stairs up to his dormitory. She waved to him before he disappeared, shaking her head fondly before climbing the stairs to her own dormitory, too.

She hated that when she set the books and her belongings down on her bed before hurrying to the shower, she couldn't help regarding herself in the mirror for a moment and wondering if maybe Harry was right. Maybe Professor Snape  _did_  have ulterior motives. Maybe shagging her, and showing her this other side of himself, and loaning her things, was all an elaborate plot that would come back to bite her in the arse. Closing her eyes under the spray and scrubbing at her skin, she really hoped it wasn't true, but she couldn't forget the niggling little sense of concern that nipped at her psyche, recalling the morbidly curious expression he'd been wearing when he'd woken her down in his chambers.

If she didn't know better, she'd almost think he was fascinated, like a little boy who's discovered an exciting new toy and just can't wait to see what it will endure before it breaks.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

"Are you feeling quite alright, Severus?" Minerva imposed upon him while he was enjoying his morning coffee and perusing a book he'd dug from his bookshelf last night after Miss Granger's departure.

"Fine, Minerva. And you?" he asked boredly without looking up from his book.

"Concerned for your wellbeing," the woman replied, leaning over and tipping up the cover of his book to read the title. "Is this some form of urgent research?"

"A passing curiosity. Must you fuss over me, Minerva? Despite how often you act like her, you are not my mother."

"I haven't seen you read in public outside of your lectures since you were a student yourself, Severus."

Severus paused, frowning as he lifted his gaze from his book to meet her eyes. He scowled when he realised that he'd been incorrect about just which parts of Miss Granger's personality were closely tied to her magic. Apparently being a bookish nerd was magical for her.

"Are you suggesting I shouldn't read in public, Minerva?" He asked mildly.

"You're making everyone nervous," she said, leaning back a little so that she wasn't invading his space, knowing he hated it whenever anyone touched him without permission. He glanced past her to find Filius and Pomona watching him as well and his scowled deepened into a sneer.

"Shall I remove myself from your presence?" He offered, thinking that being that it was a Saturday, he ought to have stayed in bed to avoid this ridiculousness. It would surely make the most sense to hide away in his quarters until this wretched fusion of magic Miss Granger had instigated depleted itself.

"Of course not, Severus," Minerva shook her head, smiling a little when he didn't immediately lose his temper. "I'm just surprised. By all means, enjoy your book."

"How can I possibly, now that I have your approval?" He drawled, and Minerva swatted his forearm in chastisement for his tone.

"Don't be so disagreeable, Severus. It's almost Christmas. Shortly the children will all take the train home. Surely you're thrilled at the prospect of the castle almost completely emptying?"

"As though I won't be required to spend the holidays engaging in activities I would rather not?" Severus asked, leaving it up to her to figure out if he meant that he'd be forced to attend Dumbledore's annual Yule staff party, or if he was referring to the Dark Lord's habit of enacting the very wickedest of rituals and festivities around Christmas.

"My, aren't you a ball of light this morning?" Minerva chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Forget I asked, Severus. Go back to your book and pretend we don't exist."

Severus narrowed his eyes on her, feeling the most irksome tingle inside him thanks to Miss Granger's apparent respect for this woman. Severus respected her too, of course. How could he not? She might be a pushy, bossy, stern, and positively irritating Head of Gryffindor, and she might have a terrible habit of channelling his late mother and chastising him for things like he was still just a boy, but he was secretly rather fond of her.

"As though you will be able to refrain from interrupting me again in a few minutes when you grow bored of being ignored?" he drawled.

She narrowed her eyes in return and Severus smirked at her before refilling his coffee mug and rising to his feet, taking his book with him and refusing to excuse himself before stalking out of the Great Hall, intent on enjoying his book in the peace of his private rooms.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

"Antonin, my friend," the Dark Lord asked quietly, eyeing the Russian wizard who was perhaps the sanest amongst his most zealous Death Eaters.

"My Lord?" Antonin Dolohov asked, bowing his head deferentially.

"I have a very important task for you," Lord Voldemort said softly.

"Anything, my Lord," Antonin whispered fervently.

"I require the presence of every living with that our dear friend Severus has fucked," Voldemort told him quietly.

Antonin blinked at him, obviously having not even the faintest idea of where to begin looking for such women. Severus was, after all, a very private man and he did not share his bed easily. At least not outside of a revel or a gathering of the brethren when whiskey and potions flowed freely, and the magic got the best of them.

"Use this," Voldemort offered a single raven strand of hair to his loyal Death Eater. "I believe you've a means for discovering even the most intimate details about someone with just a single strand of their hair, no?"

Antonin took the strand of Severus's hair carefully, smiling coldly.

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord," he murmured, bowing once more and waiting to be dismissed.

Lord Voldemort watched him hurry from the room, muttering to himself as he went, apparently thrilled to have been given a useful task. The best thing about those of his followers who had endured Azkaban, Voldemort decided, was that they so rarely asked after his motives when given a directive. Shaking his head, Tom Marvolo Riddle turned his attention to the other, necessary arrangements he needed to make to smooth the way to making Severus Snape the Lord of Selwyn Hall.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Hermione had been in a wretched mood all weekend thanks to Snape's magic, and she'd done her level best to hole herself up in her dormitory, sinking to her eyeballs in the books that Snape had given her. The thrill of learning had suffused her all weekend and she'd taken extensive notes from the books Professor Snape had loaned to her, absorbing the information inside them with an almost carnal delight.

She'd also had a good long while to ponder Harry's accusation and her own worries regarding Snape. She didn't delude herself into thinking he was overly attracted to her, despite the recent shagging. Indeed, the more she thought about it, the more she feared that while the first time might've been a mistake borne of his pain, intoxication, and occlumination after returning from his Death Eater meeting, the second night of shagging had surely been more thoroughly planned.

Hermione doubted very much that he'd loaned her these books merely out of the goodness of his heart. Harry was right; Snape was much too disagreeable to do anything without motive, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was. He could gain nothing in the way of inside information about Harry through her. Harry was rather transparent, his emotions worn on his sleeve. She very much doubted that Snape didn't already know about the horcruxes, and she doubted there was anything Harry learned from Dumbledore about Voldemort that Snape wasn't privy to. Moreover, she might be one of Harry's best friends, but she didn't have anything of use that he could pass on to Voldemort. Not really.

The only other conclusion she could draw was that he might be attempting to lure her to the Dark side, but she doubted that very much because of her blood status. Being muggle-born practically guaranteed that no matter how clever or gifted she might be, she would never be welcomed among the likes of zealous Death Eaters. Malfoy and the other Slytherins were perfect examples of that.

"We're off to Quidditch practice, Hermione," Ron told her, nudging her foot while she sat curled in an armchair in front of the fire in the common room, on Sunday afternoon.

Hermione blinked, jolted from her thoughts. She looked up to find Harry, Ron, and Ginny all dressed in their quidditch training gear.

"Oh. Is it afternoon already?" she asked, surprised and glancing out the window to note the low hanging afternoon sun that peeked through the clouds, making the snow upon the grounds and the windowsills glitter brilliantly.

"She emerges to reality once more," Ginny chuckled. "You've been lost in your books all weekend, Hermione. You owe me girl-time after practice."

"If girl-time involves gabbing about boys and doing our nails, please know that I loathe nail-polish, and I'm going to gab about your brothers."

"Ew," Ginny wrinkled her nose. Ron laughed, his ears turning red.

"All good things, right?" he asked her.

Hermione smiled at him innocently. "Are there any other kind where you're concerned?"

"Why don't I trust you when you smile like that?" Ron wanted to know, looking wary.

"You're smarter than I've been giving your credit for?" Hermione suggested, grinning.

Ron and Harry laughed.

"I'm going to make you pay for that, you know? You wait. You won't be expecting it, and just out of the blue I'm going to get you back, Hermione."

"I'm terrified," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you lot going to Quidditch practice, or not?"

"So impatient when there are books to be read," Harry chuckled.

"It's not that you're boring," Hermione assured them, grinning mischievously. "It's just that you can't inform me of the thrilling inner workings of a coven circle with as much analysis as this glorious book."

"So, now we're boring  _and_ thick?" Ron asked.

"Speak for yourself," Ginny told her brother. Ron grabbed her, looping his arm over her shoulders and pulling her close before giving her a noogie.

"Now who's thick, little sister?" Ron taunted, scrubbing his knuckles mercilessly against her skull.

"Get off!" Ginny screeched, elbowing him in the ribs and following up with a kidney jab.

Hermione rolled her eyes at their scuffle and turned her attention back to her book. The next time she looked up her friends were gone, and she frowned at the back cover of the book, having finished and closed it. She had questions. And she wanted more answers. It also occurred to her that if she was going to get these books returned to Professor Snape, now might be the perfect opportunity since she wouldn't have Harry breathing down her neck while he was off at training, and no one else would have to know she'd been loaned anything by Professor Snape.

Though he might not appreciate having his Sunday afternoon interrupted by a student. Hermine sighed, tracing the back cover carefully for a minute and glancing around the common room. Most of the occupants were scrambling with homework they'd left to the last minute, or just sitting around and enjoying the warmth of the common room when the outside world was blanketed in snow.

Supposing that the worst he could do would be to take his books and send her away without answers, Hermione decided to take the risk. Hurrying up to her dormitory, Hermione glanced in the mirror, making a face at her out of control curls. Dressed in jeans, slippers, and a jumper Mrs Weasley had knitted for her last year, she looked comfortable, rather than sexy, but then she supposed that was the point. The last thing she needed was anyone, especially Snape, thinking that she was dressing for attention.

Collecting the four books he'd loaned her, Hermione untied the messy bun she'd pulled her curls into, letting the wild corkscrews unravel and hang loose down her back before setting off in the direction of the dungeons.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Severus frowned at the knock that sounded on the door into his private quarters, having had none of his wards tripped when anyone entered his classroom, or his office – which the intruder must have done to reach the door into his chambers. He glanced at the door, listening to the smart rap of knuckles against the wood, before glancing down at his person. He'd yet to get out of his pyjamas, despite it being mid-afternoon. He certainly wasn't in the mood for visitors. Getting over the fusion of Miss Granger's magic with his own was a bit like being hungover and he was in no fit state for company. Despite his curiosity and suspicion regarding whomever dared interrupt his afternoon, Severus turned his attention back to his book, thinking ill of Miss Granger for her influence that had rekindled his reading habit.

The rap of knuckles a second time was accompanied by a call through the door in a feminine voice and Severus narrowed his eyes. Probably Minerva, wanting to check on him and apologise for any offence she might've offered at breakfast. He listened to the faint scrapings of feet outside the door, hoping the invader might've left.

He hoped in vain.

His wand was in his hand and his eyes were narrowed to slits when the lock clicked, and his wards were expertly disabled before the door creaked open.

"Probably going to kill me for this but I'm not leaving valuable books where just anyone can get them," the invader was muttering as she pushed the door open whilst juggling her wand and a stack of books.

The riot of coffee coloured curls that marked her identity didn't stop Severus from firing a Stinging Hex. She blocked it, her eyes widening as she looked over at him.

Miss Granger.

"Oh, you're here," she exclaimed, smiling.

"Miss Granger, are you aware what a locked and warded room signifies?" he asked, eyeing her dangerously.

"An open invitation to come right in, obviously," she drawled sarcastically in retort. "Why didn't you answer the door?"

"It's my prerogative not to when I'm not interested in company," he sneered. "Yet here you are."

She narrowed her eyes on him and Severus could tell she was sizing up whether he was currently playing the Death Eater or the teacher.

"Apologies, sir," she bit out, going so far as to offer a little curtsey. "I was merely returning your belongings. My gratitude for their loan."

She set the books down on his coffee table, flicked her hair and turned her back like she meant to leave. Glaring at her back, Severus flicked his wand, slamming the door in her face before she could vacate his rooms.

"What do you think you're doing disabling my wards and helping yourself to my rooms, Miss Granger? How dare you barge in on me - on anyone - when the room is locked and warded against you!? I might've been naked in here, for all you knew."

She turned back to him, raising her eyebrows.

"As though I've never seen that before?" She scoffed.

"Perhaps you invaded, hoping to see it again." He taunted, smirking cruelly and waiting for her to blush. His eyes narrowed when she did no such thing.

"Perhaps I did," she snapped. "Now, since you're obviously in no fit state for company and unlikely to offer stimulating discussion that isn't cushioned in insults, I'll be off."

Severus shot to his feet, glaring at her and cursing the way her eyes darted down to take in the fact that he was shirtless and barefoot, his bathrobe hanging open over the black track pants worn low on his hips.

"Your insolence knows no bounds, Miss Granger. "

"I merely emulate those whose company I'm in," she retorted, and Severus seriously considered hexing her.

"Witty," he sneered.

"Merlin, you're out of sorts today," she grumbled, folding her arms over her chest.

"It surprises you that someone might be annoyed when you break into their private quarters uninvited, disabling complex wards and locking charms? And what are those? Slippers? Really, Miss Granger? Were you raised by heathens?"

She huffed at him, blushing as she glanced at her slippers.

"I'm leaving," she declared. "You can return to being a grumpy sod, alone."

"Are you aware that if any other student spoke to me this way, I'd have them drawn and quartered?" He demanded.

Her lips twitched knowingly and a wicked little glint came into her eyes that made Severus want to hex her all over again. She had the smug, conniving look that he'd worn himself too many times to count when needling someone for something they undoubtedly felt guilt over. And she wasn't wrong. He might've become increasingly intrigued by the tricky little witch, and by the idea of thoroughly corrupting her, but the shreds of morality he still retained throbbed dully every time he looked at her. He should never have fucked her to begin with, and he certainly shouldn't have done so more than that initial time, but here he was having repeatedly shagged the little swot, and having her rub it in his face that he obviously allowed her a certain amount of leeway he'd never permitted of any of other student.

"Special treatment for me, Professor?" She taunted, her tone distinctly flirtatious in a way that, he was ashamed to admit, made his cock twitch.

"I was raised to make allowances for those less gifted than myself," he sneered cruelly in retort, only too willing to punish her for the wretched breaches of morality he'd been committing, and for the fact that the little chit was obviously  _aware_  that she was having some effect on him.

Her smile vanished at his words, her eyes narrowing hatefully and her hand twitching around her wand as she stomped closer, obviously unafraid of him even when he loomed over her. She almost looked like she was going to hex him, and Severus knew he had problems when he found himself itching with the wish that she would. He'd kill for a decent duel and while he doubted she'd know any of the dark hexes he or his brethren might fling at each other, he didn't doubt that she had a wicked repertoire of spells up her sleeve and reflexes quick enough to block most of his unfriendly attacks.

"You know what,  _Professor_ Snape? All I wanted to do was return your books, and discuss their content with you, yet all I get is hostility and insults. I didn't expect special treatment, sir, but it was obviously my mistake to have expected a little maturity. In future, I'll be sure to avoid accepting loans from you and will endeavour to keep my thoughts to myself."

Severus narrowed his eyes on her when she accompanied the word 'maturity' with a slap of her hand against his bare chest.

"If only you'd learn to keep your hands to yourself, too," he snapped.

"Oh, you can be sure that I most certainly will in future,  _Professor_ ," she sneered hatefully, her dark eyes flashing with hostility as she pulled her hand away like she'd been burned.

She jerked backward and turned to stomp for the door once more, twisting her wand like a knife stabbed in flesh and expertly disabling his locking charms all over again. Severus narrowed his eyes, recognising his own unique disabling spell, which she shouldn't have known how to perform. Had she been watching him so closely to have learned it, or had she stumbled upon it in some other way?

"Miss Granger?" he asked, lowering his voice to the silken purr he'd perfected when luring students into trouble, and when sweet talking the Dark Lord.

She froze, her back stiffening as she halted her departure. She didn't turn, apparently too annoyed with him to face him once more and Severus narrowed his eyes on her, closing the distance between the two of them once more. When he stood directly behind her, close enough to let her feel the puff of his breath on the back of her neck, she shivered.

"How closely have you been observing me that you're stealing my spells, Miss Granger?" he asked quietly, his lips by her ear.

"I learned this spell in a book," she said defensively.

"Funny," he sneered. "I've never published a manuscript."

"Are you so arrogant as to imagine that you're the only other person in the world who knows this spell?" she asked, turning slowly once more, her back pressed to the door when she took a small step back to find him so overwhelmingly close.

"Considering that I invented both the wards that spell cancels,  _and_  the unique disabling effect, rather than the complete cancellation of the magic, yes, Miss Granger. I am  _that_  arrogant," he said quietly. "The only means you could have had for learning it would be observing me  _very_  closely."

"I learned it in a book," she replied stubbornly, and Severus dove into her mind the moment she defiantly met his gaze.

He rifled through her memories and thoughts with surprising ease before discovering the memory where she had, in fact, read the incantation and its effect within a book. A battered, edited, defaced Potions book, to be precise.

"Miss Granger, explain to me how a witch whose life revolves around a hyped up and inflated ego built on cleverness managed to trust a hand-written entry in a book?" he said, pulling free of her mind and hearing the very soft sound she made in protest, having tried to keep him from locating the particular memory he'd accessed.

"Perhaps I know the author of the hand-written entry," she replied, tight lipped.

"Intimately, I'd say," Severus purred, loathing himself for the little flair of desire beginning to bubble inside of him as he stared her down.

Her cheeks brightened to red and her eyes darted to his lip as though she were imagining what it would be like to snog him. Severus caught the tip of his index finger under her chin, forcing her gaze back to his own.

"How did you come by my sixth year Potions textbook?" he asked curiously. "Been raiding my belongings in addition to my stores, have you?"

She shook her head.

"I don't have it," she admitted. "Someone else does. I believe  _he_  found it in the back of the Potions cupboard at the beginning of the year when Professor Slughorn allowed him into the NEWT level Potions course."

Severus's stomach flipped uncomfortably, his mind recalling Potter's decent attempts at their  _Felix Felicius_ brew on Friday, and a handful of mentions Horace had made of Potter's skill in Potions. The little wretch had his Potions book. Severus might've paled, were he able. Some of the things he's scribbled into those pages were things he never wanted to see the light of day again. He'd been a hateful and bitter teenager burning with jealousy and betrayal and obsession when he'd written some of those things and when he'd invented some of those spells. In the hands of a reckless menace like Potter, they could be lethal.

"Potter has been utilising some of those spells and things?" he asked, his throat tightening in panic.

"It's  _your_  book?" Miss Granger confirmed, her eyes widening.

"You just said you knew the author of those hand-written entries!" he hissed, narrowing his eyes on her.

"Well, I mean, I  _suspected_  it was yours when I noticed that you make some of the same alterations to the recipes for class in Potions. And it certainly looks like the same hand-writing that is usually viciously scribbled all over my essays to remind me how unoriginal I am," she huffed. "But I wasn't  _certain_  it was yours. Why on Earth were you referring to yourself as the Half-Blood Prince? The only mention I could find of any 'Prince' was a woman named Eileen Prince, who'd attended Hogwarts some twenty years prior to the dates in that book."

Severus almost winced, recalling that he'd written some of that drivel down, and his heart gave a painful twist inside his chest at the mention of his mother.

"I am a half-blood," he informed her quietly, eyeing her shrewdly and wondering what steps might need to be taken to mitigate the damage his book could do in the hands of Potter. "And Eileen Prince was my mother. As a half-blood wizard sorted into Slytherin attending Hogwarts in a time when the Dark Lord was popular and active, gaining power behind his blood supremacist cause, and as a man with little appreciation for muggles after my own experiences with them, I wanted to identify both my link to a powerful pureblood wizarding family -the Princes – and to ensure my blood status was well known among my brethren. I was also sixteen, angst-ridden, and the prelude to the cruel and cutting wizard standing before you.  _Nothing_  that I scribbled into those pages is suitable for the likes of Potter to be reading, Miss Granger."

She tipped her head to one side, eyeing him almost curiously, apparently unaware of the growing anger simmering inside him.

"I have trouble imaging you as a teenager," she informed him softly.

"You will have trouble imagining anything at all if you don't explain just what you think you're doing trusting the scribbles of an unknown teenager in a twenty year old book," he snapped.

"They're  _your_  scribbles," she frowned. "What does it matter?"

Before he could think better of it or control the urge to do so, Severus's hands shot up to bury in her wild curls, gripping tight and pulling her closer, his nose almost brushing hers as he glared down at her furiously. She whimpered, rising up on her toes, trying to keep him from pulling her hair too hard.

"It would be a mistake on your part to believe you can trust me, Miss Granger," he informed her icily. "I am not now, nor have I ever been a nice or a trustworthy person. Some of the spells I invented in my youth are deadly and the blind trust of idiotic teenagers in their uses and their intentions is both terrifying and outrageous."

She paled considerably, her eyes darting between both of his searchingly, perhaps seeking some clue that he was having her on, or anything other than deadly serious.

"The ones we've used have all been safe," she whispered. " _Levicorpus_ , and  _Muffliato_ , and the disabling charm – which Harry hasn't figured out yet – have all been useful and mostly harmless."

"And others are curses that would have your victims expelling their own entrails and getting tangled in them, Granger!" he snarled. "There are spells in that book that cause your victim's eyeballs to boil in the sockets and spells that can cleave flesh from bone with a flick of your wand, rendering you with the skills of a butcher, hacking at the corpse of your victims."

He released her, shoving her away from himself and hearing the breath huff from her lungs as she collided with the door. Severus stalked away from her, beginning to pace, his fury and his concern growing by the second. It was one thing to corrupt Miss Granger and open her eyes to the Darker branches of the magical world that she'd yet to explore. She was careful and clever and usually did her research before attempting anything reckless. In the hands of Potter, some of his deadliest spells would become little more than terrible and tragic accidents just waiting to happen. Worst of all, given his temper and his loyalties, not to mention his suspicions, Potter's most likely target for some of those evil curses was Draco. Severus's own godson. He might be beyond his ability to care about much when it really boiled down to it, but he was as fond of the boy as he could manage to be.

"Why would you invent such spells?" she wanted to know, looking aghast when she regained her balance and pushed away from the door, following him deeper into the room.

Severus stopped on a dime and spun to face her once more. His hand closed over the left sleeve of his robe, shoving the fabric up to reveal the wretched black Dark Mark blemishing his pale skin. He thrust his arm in her direction, letting her see the writhing, pulsing, terrible mark he bore.

"Was this too subtle a clue about my personality, Granger?" he sneered coldly, watching the way her eyes widened and her breath caught as she eyed the mark fearfully.

"No," she shook her head. "But the book was from your sixth year."

Severus laughed.

"Did you think the Dark Lord cared about age when he was recruiting before his brief fall?" he asked cruelly. "In your experience, has youth kept you and your irksome friends from finding trouble and engaging in illegal activities? Has Potter's age kept the Dark Lord from hunting him?"

She shook her head, frowning.

"I earned this mark at sixteen, Miss Granger," Severus told her quietly. "And I wore it with pride for five long years until the Dark Lord's fall. I have done things that even your brilliant mind cannot fathom. My loyalties might've shifted, but I have  _never_  been a trustworthy or a nice person and to assume otherwise would be to your own detriment."

Her lower lip trembled like she might cry when he met her gaze and Severus curled his lip, disgusted by her weakness.

"Get out of my sight, Granger," he commanded. "And if you warn Potter that I will be reclaiming my property from his possession in short order, know that you will suffer a fate beyond your darkest imagination."

He could tell when she took a small step back, her brow furrowing, that she wasn't as intrigued by this cruel side of his Death Eater persona. He could tell she'd begun to think of him as two separate people; bastard teacher and sinful Death Eater, perhaps imagining that never the twain would meet. The realisation that his cruelty and his iciness was as much a part of being a Death Eater as the sinful parts were like a bucket of icy-water dumped over her head and she backed away from him until she reached the door, her hand fumbling blindly with the doorknob until she opened it and turned as she fled from his presence like the clever little witch she was  _supposed_  to be.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

Hermione raced up the stairs and into the boy's dormitories the moment she returned to the common room. She didn't even think about it as she hurried to Harry's trunk and pried open the lid, grateful that Harry and Ron were both at Quidditch training, while Neville, Dean and Seamus were nowhere around. She didn't want to be seen stealing the Potions book from Harry, but she couldn't let him keep it. He would undoubtedly be furious with her if he knew she'd taken it, but Hermione wouldn't risk leaving in it his possession. Not now. Not knowing that Professor Snape really  _was_  the past owner and the one responsible for the spells scribbled in the margins.

Harry would want to destroy it the minute he learned it'd been Snape's, anyway. He would throw a tantrum, she was sure, but Hermione would be stoic in her responses when he questioned her about it. Which he would undoubtedly do. Her hand hesitated over the Marauders Map when she found it tucked inside the book like a bookmark. She didn't like the way Harry had been keeping an eye on her with it, but she had no intention of returning to Snape's quarters ever again, so it mattered little if he kept it to spy on the likes of Malfoy.

Besides, if she took that, too, he'd know for certain that it'd been her and he'd probably try to hex her. Tucking the book into her back pocket, Hermione replaced the one she was taking with a duplicated copy of her own Potions book. She left the room before she could be caught in there.

"You alright, Hermione?" Neville asked, frowning at her when she reached the bottom of the boy's stairs, blinking at her in surprise.

"Neville. Hi. I was looking for Harry and Ron," she said.

"I think they're at practice," Neville said. "Is everything ok? You look a bit spooked."

"Everything's fine," Hermione smiled tightly. "I um… listen I'm going to go to the library, alright? If Harry and Ron are looking for me later, could you let them know where I'll be."

"Sure, Hermione," Neville smiled kindly. "Are you sure you're alright? You really do look a bit frazzled."

Without thinking, Hermione nodded and stepped into him, hugging the plump boy tightly.

"I'm fine," she told him when he patted her awkwardly on the back, apparently unaccustomed to such affection. "Thanks Neville. You're really great, you know?"

Neville's cheeks were pink when she pulled back and held him at arm's length, smiling into his face.

"Uh… thanks, Hermione. You're great, too."

Hermione nodded once, releasing him and stepping back before smiling tightly once more and hurrying for the door. She needed to think. The truth was that she  _was_  spooked. They'd been incredibly lucky to have avoided using one of Snape's dark spells whilst rifling through his book and she'd been beyond horrified to learn he'd taken the Dark Mark at sixteen. What was worse was that he'd told her that he'd worn that mark with pride. He'd been proud to be a Death Eater; proud to be engaging in illegal activities, affiliated with a monster who seemed bent on wiping muggles and muggleborns like her off the face of the earth.

She couldn't reconcile it with the man she knew him to be, now. Maybe she'd just been deluding herself. Maybe she'd been enthralled by his voice and his dry, dark sense of humour, and his wretchedly intriguing hands and she'd let things get out of hand. Maybe she was just a foolish little girl playing a game she didn't understand against a far more skilled opponent.

She wandered the halls aimlessly, her thoughts in a whirl, her hand clenched around the wand in her pocket. She paced and she muttered to herself, trying to make sense of how she'd let things get so out of hand. It was one thing to have had a few sexual encounters with Viktor, and to have had a casual sexual affair with Ron. They were both close to her age, both decent young men, and both unlikely to hurt her. They were good people who'd taken her fancy and that was fine.

Professor Snape was another matter. He was her teacher. He was wicked. He was a Dark wizard who did dark things and engaged in terrible activities that were far outside of the law. He was a puppet for two master tricksters and he was walking a knife edge between Light and Dark for a cause she didn't fully understand. She might be affiliated with the Order and be Harry's best friend, but she knew nothing of Snape's heritage or his background. He was too private. She hadn't even known his mother's name, and yet she'd been riding his cock.

Her own mother would be appalled with her. The age difference between them meant little to her, if she was honest. Her own parents had a fifteen-year gap between them, and they were two of the happiest people she knew. Age was just a number, they always said, what counted was a person's experiences. And she knew very little about Snape's experiences. It hadn't fully occurred to her until today that there had been a time when he wasn't working as a spy for the Order; when he'd been just a young wizard following a Dark Lord and willing to do whatever that Lord asked of him for the cause.

She didn't doubt he had murdered. She knew he was a liar. She knew he was wicked, perhaps even a little bit evil. Merlin, she hadn't even considered what other things he might've done as a Death Eater. He wasn't sitting in a prison cell, so she told herself that maybe he hadn't done anything too bad.

Her mouth twisted when the little voice in her head muttered that maybe he just hadn't been caught. Maybe he'd raped people. Maybe he'd tortured people into madness. Maybe he liked to play with knives, or fire, or the type of magic that could boil people's eyes out of their skulls. Maybe he'd tortured defenceless creatures in his youth, testing his inventions on things that couldn't fight back.

Hermione felt sick even thinking about it. Her stomach twisted to know that despite all that, he still intrigued her. She wanted to know more about him and even though her common sense and the voice of reason inside of her was telling her to run for her life and never look at him again, she knew she would be lured back. Like a moth to flame, even now, she felt the strongest urge to return to his quarters and to impose on him until he told her his every secret. The voice in her head muttered that she should be interested in someone like Ron. That voice wanted her to tell Ron that she wanted more than the physical relationship they'd had during the summer. That voice said that Severus Snape was dangerous with a capital 'D' and that she'd only end up hurt, or killed, if she didn't get over her silly little crush and forget him. The voice reminded her of the way he'd looked at her like a toy he wanted to play with until it broke – like a sociopath eyeing his next victim.

And so, when she found her feet carrying her to the door into his office, her hands restlessly twitching as she clutched her wand, Hermione knew she was in trouble. She should leave. She should run for her life. But she wouldn't.

He flung the door open before she could knock, the wards around the office having tripped, no doubt. He glared down his nose at her, dressed this time and looking as sinfully formidable as ever. Hermione hated the little shudder that rushed through her as she took in the sight of him. He curled his lip, looking positively disgusted with her for returning, and Hermione knew she was likely to receive a tongue lashing.

She stalked past him and into his office just the same, squeezing by him in the doorway and entering the office without invitation. He didn't speak as he slammed the door behind her, stalking around his desk with all the predatory grace of a big cat and Hermione loathed feeling rather like a mouse in his presence. She fished the battered Potions book from her pocket and set it on the desk between them.

"More theft, Granger?" he asked snidely, eyeing her coldly.

Hermione knew from the lack of 'Miss' before her surname that he wasn't at all in the mood for being her teacher.

"Harry will murder me when he finds out it's gone," Hermione told him quietly, frowning.

"Imagine the damage he could do when he flings one of my dark curses at someone without understanding what it might do," Snape sneered in retort and Hermione nodded.

She dropped into the chair opposite his desk inside his office, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes and trying to urge herself to leave his presence once more.

"He'll suspect me," she muttered. "He'll know I took it. I've been arguing with him for months that he needs to get rid of that book because it gave him an unfair advantage in Potions classes. He'll think I took it to be petty and return him to his former level of potion-making abilities. He'll accuse me of feeling threatened and betraying him for the sake of a grade."

"Accuse him of Dark magic for following my scribblings," Snape drawled in retort. "It is, after all, true."

"That wouldn't be a good idea," Hermione murmured without uncovering her eyes though she'd swear she could feel him looming over her. "He already accused me of… well, he implied that I was a tart and that you were up to no good, where I'm concerned. He knows I was in your quarters on Friday night. He and Ron were waiting up for me when I returned to the common room."

"He confronted you?" Snape asked, and Hermione nodded. When she felt his hands encircling her wrists, Hermione took her hands from her eyes and looked up, meeting his dark gaze. "Show me?"

She was surprised he'd bothered to ask permission when he usually just invaded her mind when he wanted to know something she wasn't sharing. Nodding her consent, Hermione held his gaze, letting him into her head. She focused on the memory of her fight with Harry, recalling the way he'd accused her of fraternising with the enemy and the implication that she was stupid enough to let Severus manipulate her. She loathed the niggling feeling that Harry was right as she sat there in his office, having just betrayed her best friend's trust.

"It was unwise to have suggested anything remotely resembling seduction," he said quietly when he withdrew from her mind a few minutes later, having viewed the memory all the way through from the minute she'd returned to the common room right up until she'd begun undressing to shower.

Hermione huffed in surprise that he hadn't sneered about her affair with Ron.

"What else was I supposed to do? Vehement denial in the face of accurate accusation isn't my forte," she said. "I'm actually  _not_  that good a liar."

"I am aware," he replied, and Hermione narrowed her eyes on him, slumping back in her chair and glaring at him, finding that sometime during his perusal of her memories, he'd invaded her space to be standing between her knees, looming over her.

"Why?" Hermione asked him, unable to stand the niggling questions in her head anymore. "Why did you fuck me?"

He didn't move a single muscle, his expression never changing as he stared her down.

"Why did you let me?" he countered. "It was you who refused to leave, Granger. It was you dusting kisses across my person and you on your knees, sucking my cock. Why didn't you run the minute you saw me in my mask?"

"You were bleeding to death," she huffed.

"Sexual gratification does little to stop such things," he said. "I suggested that you would regret it, and that you should leave.  _You_  said you didn't want to.  _You_  instigated the exchange. What are  _your_  motives, Miss Granger?"

"I don't have any motives," Hermione sighed, leaning further back in her chair and looking away from him. "I'm just a fool."

"You are intrigued," he said softly.

Hermione's cheeks flushed with heat, but she didn't deny it. She liked that he said intrigued, rather than infatuated.

"The question, however, is whether you are intrigued by me, or by what I represent. You hardly needed to seek out me for sexual release when Mr Weasley seemed up to the task just fine over the summer. Is it the Dark calling to you, Miss Granger?" he asked quietly.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, unwilling to admit that she didn't rightly know if it was him as a person, or something else that had ensnared her.

"How long?" he asked quietly.

"How long what?" she asked, frowning, her gaze meeting his once more.

"How long have you been intrigued?" he clarified. "When did you first notice that you were paying more attention to me?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed, shocked by the question.

"Are you asking if I fancy you?" Hermione frowned.

"I'm asking when you began thinking of me as anything other than your teacher," he said carefully, his eyes searching her face. "Were you experiencing this intrigue last year?"

Hermione frowned.

"I… don't know," she admitted, looking at her lap for a moment. "I suppose I noticed certain things last year, but not in the same capacity. I never… not like this."

"Would you say your intrigue sparked following your trip to the Department of Mysteries in June?" he asked.

Hermione blinked, her eyes widening.

"You think this is the result of Dolohov's curse?" she asked, her eyes jumping back to his face. "That was meant to kill me – to burn me from the inside, out. That wasn't some spell to make me… I don't know… promiscuous enough to be shagging my teacher."

"Dark magic always leaves a mark, Miss Granger," he said quietly. "You have no scar, despite his curse. But you  _do_  have a newfound intrigue with Dark magic. That I am currently the closest thing you've got access to that has known Dark magic suggests that your intrigue is the result of his curse. Not because anything about his curse was designed to make you crave me, but because once you've touched Dark Magic, willingly or otherwise, it is an addiction you cannot shake."

"But wouldn't that mean that someone like Harry should be drawn to Dark magic, too?" she asked. "I barely survived that burning curse, but Harry survived the Killing curse. Shouldn't he be drawn to Dark magic?"

"You think he isn't?" Severus raised one eyebrow. "He is a Parslemouth. He finds trouble every year. His very soul was called into question during his run in with Dementors. At this very moment he is likely tearing his dormitory apart trying to find my Potions book because not only are my recipes allowing him to pass Potions, he is also studying it, caught up in the enthrallment of reading the spells in the margins. He reads it obsessively, doesn't he?"

Hermione frowned.

"According to Ron, yes. He reads it every night before bed, trying to decipher your notes," Hermione nodded. "But he  _hates_  you. I can assure you, Professor, Harry isn't harbouring any secret fantasises about seducing you."

"No, his fantasises are of seeing me suffer or watching me die. And that, Miss Granger, is far more dangerous than sexual fantasies."

Hermione frowned, supposing he had a point.

"None of the others are drawn to Dark magic."

"Miss Weasley is," he replied quietly. "Make no mistake, Miss Granger, her interaction with the Dark Lord's horcrux during her first year has done irreparable things to her soul. She sees Madam Pomfrey every month for check-ups to ensure she isn't slipping back into those dissociative states and she is kept under close watch regarding the books she might check out of the library. Her wand is checked weekly for  _Priori Incantatum_  to ensure she isn't practicing Dark magic."

Hermione blinked in shock.

"I didn't know that," she whispered.

"No one does, except Miss Weasley, her parents, and the staff," Severus said quietly. "Mr Weasley, Miss Lovegood, and Mr Longbottom are being watched as well. Mr Weasley also sees the nurse about the effects of that brain that attacked him in the Department of Mysteries."

"I knew about that," Hermione nodded. "But I thought they were just check-ups to make sure it hadn't leeched too much of his magic. Am I being watched, too?"

"Not as closely as you should be," he shook his head carefully. "Pomfrey and Dumbledore believe that the curse Dolohov used on you was only mild, else you'd have died. They think that as there is no scar, and no disturbance in your magical core, that your got away unscathed."

"You disagree?" Hermione asked.

"You magic  _is_  unscathed," he shook his head, eyeing her intensely in a way that made her whole body quiver. "Your skin is unblemished. Physically, you have suffered no lasting effects. However, you are the first person to have ever survived that curse, Miss Granger. Dolohov has used it countless times and the effects are less than pleasant and always fatal. Yet here you sit. Until you didn't run from me on Thursday evening, you seemed untouched and unaffected by the Dark magic."

"Wanting to shag you doesn't correlate to being drawn to Dark magic, Professor."

"You only want to fuck me when I'm in the mindset of being a Death Eater, Miss Granger," he pointed out quietly. "You had no interest at all in imagining anything sexual with me whilst you were in class with your friends on Friday."

"You were eavesdropping on my thoughts?" she asked, annoyed.

"Do you deny that you have been looking longingly toward the Restricted Section of the library, wanting to absorb the knowledge locked inside that is considered too dark for students?" he asked, refusing to answer her.

"No," she admitted. "But I've been doing that since first year."

"Do you deny that you want to fuck me right now?" he asked, tipping his head to one side, his gaze shrewd.

"No," Hermione whispered.

"Do you deny that after stealing this book to protect your friend, you paced the castle and, despite your best efforts, found yourself outside my door once again?" he asked.

"How closely are you watching me that you know that?" she wanted to know.

He smirked at her coldly, refusing to answer that question either.

"Do you merely crave satiation, Miss Granger, or are you interested in the Dark magic that pulses under my skin?"

"Both," Hermione whispered.

"And have you ever felt the same allure to any of your other teachers or any other person?"

Hermione's cheeks stained crimson.

"Does Remus count?" she asked.

"You've fucked Lupin?" he asked, stiffening, his lip curling in disgust.

"Of course not," she rolled her eyes. "But over the summer, before school started, I certainly… erm… found myself craving his company."

"Wanting to fuck him?" Severus asked, eyes glittering dangerously.

Hermione frowned, thinking about it carefully.

"No," she said finally. "I did want to touch him, but not in a sexual manner."

"Drawn to the wolf, then," his mouth twisted, his eyes unfathomable. "As a werewolf, he is a creature of the Dark, no matter his Light human soul. Were you drawn to him in such a manner before June?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "Since first meeting him. I touched him on the train in third year. I was sitting beside him, and our knees bumped. I could feel the power under his skin."

"This urge has endured without you developing a crush on him?" Severus asked.

"I've never fancied Remus," she shook her head. "Sometimes I just have the strangest urge to play with his hair or fiddle with his fingers, or to touch his teeth – which even I admit, is odd."

"All the time when you are in his presence, or only sometimes?"

"Only sometimes. You think it's only when the wolf is stirring?"

"Perhaps," he murmured. "Though your intrigue prior to June is unusual. Most people, before they have touched Dark magic, feel the urge to shy away from werewolves in fear when they sense the wolf."

"Harry never shied away."

"Potter is scarred with the Dark and has been since infancy. He was also exposed to the likes of Lupin during his mother's pregnancy and from almost the first minute of his birth. His being drawn to Lupin is born of a familial bond sparked by the wolf and passed from father to son when he was conceived."

"A pack bond?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"One of the only things preventing his seduction by the Dark, I expect."

"Does Remus know?"

"Of course, he knows," Severus rolled his eyes at her and Hermione wanted to kick him. "He's a werewolf. He'd recognise a packmate in a heartbeat even if he hadn't known Potter since birth."

"Then why am I drawn to the wolf?" Hermione frowned. "I have no pack bond with him."

"You might, actually," Severus said quietly. "You recall your use of the Time Turner on the night of Pettigrew's escape, I suppose?"

"When I howled to draw Remus away and keep him from attacking us?" Hermione asked, her thoughts spinning with dizzying speed, trying to keep up with him.

"It is unheard of for a human to mimic a wolf-cry so accurately to lure a werewolf from his chosen prey. Yet Lupin heeded your call. Have you ever exchanged blood with Potter?" Severus asked.

"Now you're accusing me of blood magic?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Answer the question," he said.

Hermione thought hard.

"I might've," she said finally. "He gets injured so often, and we end up in scraps so frequently. Our blood might've mingled when we were both injured at some point."

"But you dislike Lupin as a man and have no interest in him. That's unusual if you share a pack bond."

"I never said I disliked him. Remus is wonderful," Hermione argued. "I said I don't want to shag him, but I didn't say I didn't like him. I'm very fond of him. He's like a friendly uncle who wants to teach me about the world and keep me safe."

"Urgh," Severus made a face of disgust, curling his lip. "You somehow have recognised him as an Alpha, despite not being a werewolf? That is… unusual."

"Well, not if I've formed a pack-bond with him after creating a blood bond to Harry," she argued, frowning. "But none of that is the point. Is there a way to find out if I'm being seduced by Dark magic, or just by you?"

"Close your eyes," he instructed softly, and Hermione eyed him sceptically for a minute, suspecting even that was a test.

Slowly, feeling like her heart was flipping about in her stomach, Hermione did as she'd been told. She felt a flare of magic and Snape's presence directly in front of her lessened. She held her breath as she waited, wondering what he was planning, hoping she wouldn't open her eyes to something awful. For an inordinate amount of time she sat there in front of his desk, her eyes closed, her breath shallow, hoping against hope that he wouldn't do something to make her terribly uncomfortable.

She began to think that he was simply testing her level of trust in him when it reached the five-minute mark and Hermione bit her lip on the urge to ask if she was allowed to open her eyes, yet. She didn't simply because she had the feeling it was incredibly important to him to see if she really did trust him enough to sit so long in his presence with her eyes closed when he could do just about anything to her.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she heard him speak again.

"Open your eyes, Hermione," he said very softly, his voice coming from somewhere behind her.

Hermione did so, blinking against the gloom of his office and rubbing her eyes for a moment, unaccustomed even that faint light when she'd spent so long with her eyes shut. Upon the desk before her was something that made her breath catch in her throat. There were two jars resting upon the smooth surface, both glittering with the magic contained within them. Neither was labelled. Both magics gleamed bright green, sparkling and swirling, the magic contained within giving no hint as to which was Dark magic and which was Light.

"Pick up the jar that you're most drawn to," Severus said quietly when Hermione looked over her shoulder in his direction, raising her eyebrows at him. He was leaning against the door that led back into his classroom, as though guarding it. Hermione wondered if he felt the need to guard it against anyone invading the room until she'd made her choice, or if he guarded it to prevent her escape if she chose wrong.

"What if I'm not drawn to either of them?" she asked quietly, rising to her feet and pacing a step forward, moving around the desk so that she could keep him in her sights and still see the jars.

His lip twitched like he might smile.

"I'll call you a liar," he said. "Stop looking at me, and face the jars, Miss Granger. Believe me, had I intended ill toward you, I'd have enacted any nefarious plans while you had your eyes closed."

"I am facing the jars," she pointed out.

"You will get no hint from me about which is which," he said.

Hermione nodded, trailing her eyes back to the jars and feeling the strangest urge to pick them both up at once. She couldn't tell them apart based on colour. Carefully, moving closer, Hermione closed her eyes once more, holding her hand in the direction of both jars and trying to feel the quality of the magic contained within each one.

The one of the right seemed to pulse and throb, while the one on the left seemed to glow and Hermione tilted her head, trying to think of her own magic and how it worked. Pulling back slightly, she stepped away from the desk and cast the Lightest spell she knew. Hermione didn't open her eyes as she cast her Patronus, feeling the magic manifest and moving her hand toward the warmth it seemed to emit, trying to feel it. She'd hoped for a clue, trying to figure out if Light magic glowed or throbbed, and she opened her eyes slowly when she found that her patronus did both.

Hermione blinked in surprise as she stared at the Patronus that had perched on Professor Snape's desk, eyeing it curiously. It was sitting up and begging, leaning toward her like it might sniff her.

It also wasn't an otter, as it had been when she'd last cast it. The little creature eyed her curiously in return and Hermione watched Snape as he watched her before turning her attention back to the Patronus in front of her. The jars of magic hadn't moved, but she noticed that the patronus had shifted around to put itself between her and the jar on the left. When she blinked at it, the little creature stood and padded toward the jar on the right, sniffing at it curiously. She was about to reach for that jar when the little thing bounded toward the jar on the left and sniffed at that too, nosing at it like it were a toy. She couldn't get a read on glowing over throbbing from the patronus. The little creature seemed to do both and Hermione watched as it jumped off the desk and bounded in Professor Snape's direction, stopping before him and lowering into a play-bow, it's bushy tail wagging.

Hermione eyed the little fox, wondering what was going on. Her patronus, when she'd cat it in the past, had always been an otter. It'd been playful and flitted about her, chittering whenever she'd cast it. She'd never seen it interact with anyone before, and she could think of no reason for the change of its manifestation.

When Snape flicked his fingers at the creature, creating a little shower of sparkles, the fox leapt up, snapping the stars of magic up before it disappeared and Hermione frowned in confusion.

"Interesting," he said quietly, his eyes travelling to her once more. "But you still have a decision to make, Miss Granger. Which jar do you want to pick up?"

"Both," Hermione whispered. "I want to play with both of them. I um… my patronus is… um…"

"Pick up a jar, Hermione," he said sternly and Hermione frowned.

Realising he wasn't going to let it go, she did as she'd been told, picking up the jar on the right and holding it carefully. Before he could move she frowned and put it down again, picking up the one on the left instead. A thrill whispered through her veins each time and Hermione set the left jar back down as well, frowning at the desk. She moved around in front of it once more, not wanting to see his face as she tried to figure out which one she wanted to pick up the most.

Unable to decide, Hermione did something that was probably against the rules for the experiment. Unscrewing the lids on both jars, she dipped a hand into each one, touching the magic carefully.

"Mmmmm," she hummed, unbidden, tingles racing across her skin as the feel of the magic titillated her senses. It was heady and thick, the jar on the left seeming to curl around her like the warmth of drinking hot chocolate on a cold day. The jar on the right fluttered and made her heart race inside her chest, teasing along her skin like the trail of a feather over her cheek, the faintest brush of a caress.

She could tell when she touched them, which was which. And she wanted both. She wanted to wrap the magic around herself like a blanket. She wanted to toy with it to see what she could create. She wanted to absorb the little balls of light into herself and Hermione blinked her eyes open, wondering if that was possible. She'd never seen anyone absorb magic before, but the Fusion they'd created whilst shagging was surely the same concept. Brushing her own magic against the balls of magic she held, Hermione focused, trying to weave her own magic – which glittered a bright purple as it manifested – through the green sparkles.

Just as she figured out how to do it, she felt the brush of a man's chest against her back and Hermione didn't even think about it as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. The glowing green magic curled around her wrists, knotting with her own purple magic, seeping into her skin as she touched him, and Hermione surrendered her weight to Snape's embrace feeling very much like she might be ruining her knickers when the magic fused and dissipated beneath her skin.

"You shouldn't have done that," Severus muttered, his lips by her ear, his hands gripping the edge of the desk either side of her. Hermione hummed in agreement, feeling almost catatonic in her euphoria as she leaned back against his chest, trying to catch her breath.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Severus loathed the throb of his cock as the little witch leaned back against his chest so trustingly, having just absorbed some of his magic. She was definitely in danger, he decided. Perhaps she wasn't being seduced merely by the Dark, as he'd begun to suspect, but neither was she immune to it. When she'd cast her patronus, trying to distinguish between the two magics, he'd wondered if perhaps the answer would be immediately clear. But even her protector was drawn to both magics equally. And to him. That was unusual. When she'd moved to be able to still see him as she made her decision, he'd wondered if it was his presence she craved, but her intrigue with the magic was obvious too.

"Severus?" she asked softly, breathless with the effect of absorbing his magic. She leaned against him so easily, as though she hadn't recently fled from his presence when he'd been so cruel to her. As though he weren't wicked and Dark and just a little bit unhinged.

Severus loathed that his first name came so easily to her tongue. Its use put him so quickly in the mindset of the Death Eater that it ought to be criminal. Albus and Minerva might use his given name often, but it had been the Dark Lord who'd coaxed him to its use after Lily's abandonment in his teens. Miss Granger's use of it made him think torrid things in a way that even the Dark Lord didn't, and he tightened his grip on his desk, determined to keep his hands to himself this time. He wouldn't be seduced by her again.

"What did you hope to achieve with your Patronus, Miss Granger?" he asked quietly, unable to talk himself into moving away from her and rounding his desk to discuss the matter with her sensibly.

"I wanted to see if the feel of Light magic was different to that of the Dark," she murmured. "But it's… changed…"

"Your patronus?" he asked, alarmed. "Or the feel of your magic?"

"Both," she whispered. "It used to be an otter. And it used to feel like the warm glow of a fireplace and the happiness of opening a new book. Now…"

She trailed off and Severus's knuckles went white, he gripped his desk so hard.

"Now it feels like that sweet burn of whiskey when it hits your stomach," she went on, humming softly as though she were still caught in the throes of pleasure.

"When did you last cast your patronus as an otter, Miss Granger?" he asked softly, frowning, unsettled by the idea that it's shape had changed.

"Months ago," she shook her head. "Sometime before we went to the Ministry. Before Umbridge caught us all and disbanded the DA."

Severus frowned.

"You've had no call to cast it since then?"

The little witch shook her head, turning her face slowly until her nose was pressed to the side of his neck. He tensed as he felt her draw in a slow, deep breath.

"You smell good," she whispered softly.

"You are intoxicated by the magic," he replied evenly, carrying out a mental battle with his cock about the usefulness of its presence right at that particular moment.

"Feels nice," she murmured, her lips brushing his skin.

Severus drew in a sharp breath when she suddenly nipped his throat gently before nuzzling into him. Her hands slid the length of his forearms, her fingers tracing the backs of his hands before knotting between his own fingers, prying them from the desk and lifting them to curl around her snugly. He should stop her. He knew it was bad form and immoral to continue debauching her as he had been. He knew it was dangerous. There was a very real danger that they would be caught, and he doubted the likes of Minerva, Albus, or her little friends, would be forgiving if they learned he'd been fucking her.

Circe's cunt, he didn't even want to imagine the field day his fellow Death Eaters and the Dark Lord would have to know he'd been fucking her. Some, like Bella, would sneer over the filth of her blood status. Others, like Dolohov, would surely see it for what it was; a terrible opportunity to fuck a pretty young witch and thoroughly corrupt so pure a soul to the Dark. And Merlin knew that if Severus put his mind to it, he could corrupt this little witch until she was as entrenched in Darkness as Bella or Alecto, perhaps even as entrenched as he was, himself.

He loathed that there was a large part of him that wanted to do just that. He hated that so much of him wanted to lure her down this Dark path, seducing her to the Dark Arts and transforming the bright, brilliant witch she was into something terrible and Dark and utterly ruthless. He could do it. He knew he could. He shouldn't, but he could. When she nipped his neck again, Severus let his hands trail the length of her torso, gliding over the wool of her jumper until he cupped her breasts through the fabric.

She arched into the caress, pressing her arse against his now-throbbing cock and pressing her tits forward into his hands. The Dark magic she'd just woven into herself called out to him, the rest of his magical core pulsing with the urge to burrow beneath her skin, too, knitting back together with what she'd taken and corrupting even more of hers. Severus tipped his head, giving her better access to his throat and she took full advantage, kissing and nipping his skin in a way that felt so utterly innocent, yet so sinful, he wanted to groan. Massaging her breasts through her clothing, Severus closed his eyes, fighting the urge to bend her over his desk and fuck her until his cock stopped twitching.

Indeed, he was so enthralled in the feel of her magic and the battle he waged within his own mind that he'd have missed the pulse of his wards were it not for the bang of his classroom door as it was flung open. Hissing, Severus dropped his hold on the witch, stepping back and guiding her down into the seat in front of his desk. He rounded it quickly, ignoring Miss Granger's whine of protest as he slipped into his office chair and regarded her over the table.

Just before she could open her mouth and protest his desertion, the door to his office banged open so hard the wood splintered against the stone wall. Harry Potter barrelled through the opening, his wand gripped in one hand and his map in the other. Granger jumped, spinning in her chair, her own wand drawn dangerously.

"Mr Potter, I would not recommend this course of action," Severus drawled, glaring at the messy-haired wizard.

"What have you done to Hermione!?" Potter snarled.

"Done to me?" Granger asked. "Harry, I'm right here!"

Potter's eyes darted to his friend where she sat in front of Severus's desk, his brow furrowed.

"What are you doing down here?" Potter asked, narrowing his eyes on her. "Again?"

"I was returning Professor Snape's books to him," the girl answered, and Severus almost laughed at the fact that she clearly meant the Potions book, not his other texts that she'd dropped off earlier.

Potter opened his mouth, obviously confused, before his eyes fell on the only book upon Severus's desk. The Potions text. His brow furrowed in recognition before his lip curled.

"That's mine," he said, his eyes returning to his friend, burning with accusation and betrayal the likes of which Severus hadn't seen since his fight with Lily Evans in his fifth year.

"Actually, it's not," Granger replied.

"Really, Hermione?" Potter sneered. "You care so much about your grades in Potions that you'd betray me like this? You raided my trunk?"

"Mr Potter," Severus interrupted waspishly before Granger could offer a defence. "Sit down."

A flick of his wand tucked a second chair under Potter, knocking him off his feet.

"I don't want to sit down. You stay out of this, Snape," Potter snarled. "Hermione, how could you?"

"It belongs to Professor Snape, Harry," Hermione said evenly, folding her arms over her chest. "He's the Half-Blood Prince. Those scribbles you've been so enthralled by are his."

"Rubbish," Potter snarled. "I can't believe you'd report me like this over a stupid grade, Hermione."

"Enough!" Severus hissed when the boy pointed his wand at the young witch. "Miss Granger, would you mind waiting outside for a moment while I discuss this with Mr Potter?"

Potter's eyes widened at his polite request of the girl and Severus watched the witch climb to her feet, expecting her to vacate the office into the classroom. Perhaps she wasn't as brave as he'd thought, or perhaps she was just cleverer than he'd believed because despite being warned against it, and despite how it would look, she didn't exit the office via the classroom. She walked around behind his desk and let herself into his private quarters, instead.

Severus watched the way Mr Potter's eyes widened in shock before narrowing suspiciously once more.

"Mr Potter," he drawled, not at all in the right mindset to treat the boy like his student at that moment. Right now, he was the son of Severus's enemy and his dearest friend. Right now, he was a boy walking a dangerous path, boiling with an anger Severus recognised all too well. Part of him – the part that still cared for Lily Evans – wanted to help him. Another part wanted to watch the boy burn out and get what he deserved.

"What have you done to her?" Potter hissed coldly. "I know you're up to something. If you lay a finger on her or hurt her in any way, I'll kill you myself."

Severus hexed him.

Binding the boy to his chair, Severus rose to his feet, narrowing his eyes dangerously and watching Potter's eyes widen to find that he wasn't in the presence of a surly, cruel professor, but in the presence of a wicked and cold-hearted Death Eater.

"You couldn't hurt a hair on my head, even if you tried, Potter," Severus hissed coldly, digging his wand into the boy's neck and looming over him. "You would do well to remember that though the Dark Lord might've given the directive to all of his followers not to harm you, planning to slaughter you himself, I am not merely his follower. I would  _gladly_  end your wretched existence, Potter. Is that clear? Neither the Dark Lord, nor Albus Dumbledore would be able to save you should I deem your death worth the rip to my soul."

Potter's eyes glinted with insolence, but he gulped.

"Now," Severus went on, leaning closer. "Explain to me how it is that you came to be in possession of my property, Mr Potter."

"It's not yours," Potter bit out.

Severus snarled at him before diving into his mind, seeking the answers he wanted. He found them with disgusting ease.

"Should've been practicing your Occlumency, Potter," he smirked when he withdrew a scant few minutes later. "The Dark Lord would make mince-meat of your thoughts and memories with glee."

"Why would he bother when you're around to do it for him?" Potter sneered.

"Why, indeed?" Severus smirked, and Potter's eyes widened again at the lack of denial Severus offered for the lay of his loyalties. "This book, Mr Potter, belongs to me. Your use of it is hereby terminated and you will  _not_ attack Miss Granger over its return to me again. Do I make myself clear?"

"It's not yours!" Potter hissed.

"No?" Severus asked, straightening and raising his eyebrows. " _Sectumsempra!"_

Potter flinched as Severus flicked his wand at the chair beside the boy, decimating it as though he'd taken to it with a sword. His eyes were wide with horror when he looked from the chair to Severus once more. Potter gulped.

"It's a spell for enemies. You're embroiled in Dark magic, of course you know it."

" _Ulcusocculus_ ," Severus hissed, aiming his wand at a toad corpse in a jar by the desk.

Potter's face was ashen with horror as the toad's eyes boiled and exploded.

"Tell me, Mr Potter," Severus drawled. "How often have you found yourself itching with the urge to try my spells? Maybe you thought you'd use the one listed as ' _for enemies'_  on Draco, hmm? Maybe you didn't care what it might do? Maybe you're just burning with all that anger and rage that you can't control, and you'd have let it slip out to devastate the school population. Wouldn't the world be horrified to find out that their Chosen One is dabbling in Dark Magic? Imagine their faces when you become a murderer."

Potter writhed against the bonds tying him to his chair.

"I've  _never_  dabbled in Dark Magic," Potter snarled.

Severus laughed, leaning down close to the boy, so close that Lily's green eyes filled up his vision and their noses almost touched.

"You were forged in Dark Magic, Harry Potter," Severus told him icily. "That scar upon your forehead isn't some empty remnant of a wound you suffered. That's the signature of the Darkest magic known to wizardkind, emblazoned upon your flesh for all to see. And every time it prickles, you find yourself growing angry. You want to strike out at those around you. You take your rage out on friends who deserve better than you. You itch with the urge to strike out at me, and at Draco. You shout and destroy things and lose control of your magic in a wild temper tantrum, all because you've been seduced by the Darkness. You're an addict snarling with the need for that next hit. You want it, don't you? You want to reach for those spells you don't understand. You want to watch someone else bleed. You want to hear me scream."

"You deserve to scream and suffer and bleed," Potter snarled at him, his eyes hardening to jade spikes that had once stabbed right through Severus when they were worn by a pretty witch with crimson hair.

"You deserve better," Severus murmured, and Potter's jaw slackened, his mouth opening in surprise as he blinked stupidly.

Severus searched his gaze for a long moment, the Death Eater in him that had once been tied so closely to this boy's mother rising to the surface and slipping free.

"You will not seek out this book, or any other like it again, Harry," Severus said quietly. "You will not give in to the Darkness that so longs to claim you. Your parents didn't die for you just so that you could throw away their sacrifice and dabble in the Dark Arts."

"Don't you dare talk about my parents," Potter hissed. "You don't know anything about them!"

"Don't I?" Severus asked, holding his gaze. "You've seen but a brief glimpse of my memories featuring your parents, Potter. Do you think your father made me the target of his boisterous pranks without reason? Do you think your mother came to my defence – often to her own social detriment – for nothing? Did you imagine him to be such a bastard, and her to be such a martyr as to do so without reason?"

"You're a Death Eater. My father loathed you!" Harry snarled and Severus nodded his head, conceding that point.

"He loathed me long before I became a Death Eater, Harry," Severus said quietly. "Would you like to know why?"

Potter's watched him, looking tormented now, as though he'd suddenly recognised that he was the mouse, not the cat, in their little stage-play.

"Your father made me his frequent and unrelenting target because of your mother," Severus practically purred. "After all, what boy doesn't pick a fight with those he sees as competition to win a witch's heart?"

"Don't you  _dare_  talk about my mother!" Potter hissed. "She'd never have even looked sideways at you."

Severus laughed again and simply held Potter's gaze.

"Everyone says so, but no one knows quite like me that you really  _do_  have her eyes, Harry," Severus told him quietly. "And I would know. There was only one other wizard who spent longer looking into those eyes of hers."

"You're lying," Potter denied, shaking his head angrily, his jaw clenching and his voice growing hoarse.

"Am I?" Severus asked, smiling wickedly.

He leaned back, scooping the text book from his desk and flipping to one of the pages in the middle. Holding it open, he showed Potter the insignia he'd scrawled foolishly one day in his sixth year even though Lily wouldn't even look at him anymore. There, immortalised in faded black ink were the initials  _S.S + L.E._ They'd been scribbled out, but they were still there.

"How does it feel, Harry? How does it feel to know that all this time while you've been mooning after your father's best friends, you've been vilifying and loathing your mother's closest friend for the first sixteen years of her short life?"

Potter roared at him, unintelligible sounds escaping the boy. He clenched his eyes closed.

"You're lying! She'd never have been  _your_  friend!" Potter snarled vehemently.

"You require more proof?" Severus asked, raising one eyebrow. "I can provide it."

He left the boy there tied to the chair, the page open to the inscribed page upon his desk to torment him as he stalked into his private quarters. Miss Granger stood just inside the door and Severus eyed her for a long moment while she held his gaze.

"You're torturing him," she said softly.

"He deserves it," Severus retorted, crossing to his bookshelf and fishing an old and faded photo album from the bottom shelf.

Granger trailed after him when he stalked back into his office. She didn't say a word about Harry being tied to the chair and Severus took great delight in opening the pages of the photo album and offering to them to the messy haired child of his dead best friend. He opened it to a page that showed a picture of him and Lily together in first year, wearing their opposing Slytherin and Gryffindor school uniforms, arms around one another, grinning for the camera.

Potter blinked, looking like he didn't believe his eyes. Severus leaned against his desk, propping the book open against his thigh and flicking it to the next page. He didn't need to look to know each picture by heart.

"The summer between first and second year," he told the boy, his voice emotionless, showing him a picture his own mother had taken of the two of them sprawled on the living room floor in Spinner's End, sharing a book and a plate of biscuits she'd baked while his father had been away on an extended business trip.

"Second year at Hogwarts," he said, flipping the page again, never giving the boy long enough to look, seeing the greedy way his eyes drank in the details of his mother's childhood.

"Third year," Severus said, turning the page again, this time showing a picture of Lily with her head in his lap, one of his hands playing with her long red hair while they both gobbled Sugar Mice.

"Fourth year," he said, changing the page again, cinching the pain in Potter's heart, showing a collection of pictures where Lily hugged him, kissed his cheek, and even one where she'd kissed his lips.

"Fifth year, before Christmas," he said, his voice cold and unfeeling as he flipped to the final picture he had of the two of them together. Lily was huddled in his arms, his Slytherin scarf wrapped around her neck, her cheek pillowed on his chest, both of them watching a Quidditch match from the drafty top of the Astronomy Tower. "It used to drive your father spare that every match against Slytherin, your mother supported Slytherin because she refused to show any support for a team that featured James Potter."

Potter's eyes were wet and his jaw was clenched when Severus closed the book with a snap.

"She can't have hated him all that much," Harry said coldly. "Ended up marrying him instead of you, didn't she?"

Severus knew the boy wanted to hurt him, trying to strike out in his own pain, but he was beyond the feelings of heartbreak and pain from Lily's desertion.

"Would you like to know why?" Severus asked the boy quietly, unsure why he was sharing so much of his past with this ungrateful little brat, but needing to do  _something_ to ensure he didn't give in the Darkness.

"Because he was a better man?" Harry sneered.

"Precisely," Severus shrugged. "Lily didn't like the Darkness I was surrounding myself with. So much so that she eventually forgave James for everything he'd ever done to the two of us and went on to marry him. Now you tell me, Harry  _Potter_ , how do you think your mother would feel to see you dabbling in the Dark Arts? After all, if she'd wanted a son raised to play with Dark magic, you wouldn't be calling me 'Professor'… you'd be calling me 'Dad'."

Potter's eyes squeezed closed and tears slipped down his cheeks, a soft sob tearing from his chest that might've clenched the hearts of lesser wizards. Severus stood stoic, watching the teenager before him cry. Miss Granger brushed past him when it became clear that he wasn't going to offer Potter any comfort. She flicked her wand, vanishing the bonds that had kept the boy tied to the chair, and she knelt before him, taking his glasses from his face and setting them on the desk before wiping at his cheeks.

Severus looked on in silence as the little witch was pulled into Potter's embrace, the boy forgetting his fury with her when he needed comfort. He wanted to curl his lip at the pair of them and remind him that just a few minutes ago, Potter had been ready to hex her. He even opened his mouth, intent on saying as much, but before he could utter a single word, Granger curled one arm backward and tangled her fingers with his.

He blinked, staring at the joined appendages and thinking about jerking away from her. He'd long outgrown the need for things like sympathy or comfort and despite his continued crusade against the Dark Lord in retribution for murdering Lily, Severus had outgrown his love for the woman that had so pushed him to join the cause in the first place. He didn't need to be held every time her memory tormented him. He didn't need consoling over her loss. He'd driven her away with his own actions, and he'd learned to live with that.

Yet, as Miss Granger held his hand, unafraid to touch him, even knowing just a few of the sins his hands had committed, he felt some strange measure of comfort. For the longest time she simply knelt there, holding Potter and stroking his back gently, her free hand tangled with Severus's, until eventually Potter pulled himself together and pulled away. Her fingers slipped from between his own as she rose a little higher and stood when Potter released her.

She stepped back when he reached for his glasses, briefly brushing against Severus's front, before stepping aside and standing beside him.

"This changes nothing," Potter said thickly after clearing his throat. "I don't care if you were best friends with my Mum. You're still a Death Eater and you still made all the wrong choices."

Severus might've curled his lip at the boy's insolence if it weren't exactly what he wanted.

"Fortunately, Mr Potter, I've no interest in garnering your respect or your friendship. All I expect is that you will now understand why I will rip you to pieces if I  _ever_  find you toying with Dark artefacts you don't understand or using Dark spells that you've no business using. Your parents gave you a legacy of better than that, and you  _will_  act like it. Is that clear?"

Potter narrowed his eyes on him for a long moment before he gave a single, jerky nod.

"Good," Severus sneered. "Now get the hell out of my sight."

Potter didn't need to be told twice. He got to his feet and stomped for the door, stopping only to look back for his friend.

"You too, Miss Granger," Severus muttered, nudging the girl with his foot where Potter wouldn't see.

"But I…" she began to protest, obviously bursting with questions about her magic and her patronus and a good many other things that he was in no mood to discuss.

Levelling her the look he usually reserved for sneering down his nose at her latest Potions attempt, he let her see that now was not the time for such a discussion and she closed her mouth.

"Yes, sir," she muttered. "Thank you, sir."

She shuffled her feet a bit before brushing past him and following her friend out the door. Severus watched her pull it closed behind herself and glanced down at the photo album he'd dug from his shelves before snatching up one of the jars on his desk and hurling it at the wall as hard as he could.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

"My Lord?" Antonin Dolohov asked quietly, sneaking up behind him while Lord Voldemort was peering out the window over the grounds, overseeing the alterations that were being made to Selwyn Hall in preparation for Severus's habitation.

"Antonin, my friend?" Voldemort smiled without turning to look at him.

"I have prepared the list, my Lord," Dolohov said fervently. "Shall I show it to you, or would you prefer that I capture every witch on the list for your inspection?"

"Let me see it," Voldemort held out his hand, and Dolohov slipped a fat scroll of parchment inside it.

"This is Severus's?" he asked, surprised by the length of the scroll when he unrolled it.

"Yes, my Lord. I was shocked, as well," Dolohov said.

"Ah," Voldemort chuckled. "You have included every witch he's ever fucked, even those who were only passing attractions for a scant hour or less."

"That is the way of the spell, my Lord," Dolohov bowed deferentially, fearful of retribution.

"Ah, yes. Alecto. Our dear, Bella. Narcissa, too? Really, Severus, does Lucius know?" Voldemort chuckled to himself softly. "Perdita Parkinson. Astrid Parkinson? Oh, Severus a mother-daughter dalliance? You rascal! Lily Evans, of course. Nymphadora Tonks? Bella's niece, Severus, really? The man's taste is positively eclectic!"

Lord Voldemort looked over at Dolohov, who was chuckling softly as his Lord read the list aloud, muttering to himself in surprise.

"There are more that will shock you, my Lord," he said. "These are mostly older dalliances most from before your fall, except Andromeda's girl."

"What about during my absence?" Voldemort asked, and Antonin shuffled closer, trailing his finger down the list.

"Here," he indicated.

"Charlotte Entwhistle. Loretta Bulstrode. Alecto Carrow, again?"

"They're in order by date, my Lord. The oldest – Evans – at the top, and those that followed. If he's shagged them more than once after dallying with another and returning, their name reappears."

"So, he's gone back to Alecto a few times?" Voldemort confirmed. "What are the strokes beside the names for?"

"They're a tally of how many times he fucks the same witch before moving on to someone else. The tally begins again with each new witch. See here, Alecto's got nine strokes by her name from when he was in Hogwarts and then he fucked Cissy, and then Bella, and then Alecto again three times, see?"

"This suggests that Alecto is a favourite," Voldemort mused, scanning the list for the names of witches he'd shagged during Voldemort's downfall and not recognising any of them. Perhaps they were all muggles or mudbloods.

"Probably just that she's easy, my Lord," Antonin scratched his beard absently. "My list is similar where the crazy bitch is concerned. If you're not in the mood for chasing a witch, and just want a warm cunt to bury your cock in, she's always up for it. Don't think I've ever heard her say 'no'."

"Better be careful, my friend. We wouldn't want you tied to her if you impregnated her, now would we?" Voldemort taunted his follower.

"Salazar's rod, no, my Lord. Never that," Antonin muttered, paling considerably.

"And what have we here, Cissy again?" Voldemort asked, raising one eyebrow and looking up at Antonin. "Does Lucius know his best friend is fucking his wife?"

"Pretty sure he was the one encouraging it, my Lord," Antonin muttered. "Pretty fucker swings both ways."

"And Severus agrees to it?" Voldemort asked, surprised.

Antonin shrugged his shoulders. "I ran one for blokes he's fucked, too. Lucius was the only one on there, and it was an outdated entry. Might've been from back when Snape was still burning out of control. Might be that Lucius talks him into it, or blackmails him into it."

"Nevertheless, she is married with a teenage son, so she cannot offer what I'm searching for in this endeavour. Ah, wait a moment. What's this?"

Lord Voldemort trailed his finger to the very bottom of the list where the name  _Hermione Granger_  was carefully scribbled, accompanied by three strokes.

"Caught that one, eh?" Antonin murmured, his eyes glittering with malice as he looked at the girl's name.

"Potter's Mudblood, no?" Voldemort confirmed.

"That's her, my Lord," Antonin nodded.

"The one who survived your curse in June. How very interesting. She is only in her sixth year, no?"

Antonin nodded his head sharply, his jaw set.

"My, my, my, Severus, what  _have_  you been up to? Fucking one of his students? Potter's little mudblood? Right under Dumbledore's nose? Oh, this is rich," Voldemort clapped his hands together in delight.

"This pleases you, my Lord?" Antonin asked, obviously disgusted that Snape had been shagging a teenage mudblood.

"Oh, yes," Voldemort nodded. "Forget the others on the list. Bring me our dear Alecto, and the Granger girl before Yule, Antonin."

"Gladly, my Lord," Antonin smirked, bowing once more and preparing to leave the room, intent on his task.

"Alive, Antonin. I need them both alive and unscathed."

The Russian nodded, muttering in his native tongue as he set off intent on capturing the witches in question.

"Oh, Severus," Voldemort traced the tip of his finger over his own lower lip, talking to himself in the large, lavish drawing room of Selwyn Hall. "How you do so easily and willingly play into my little games, my friend"

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Hermione had no chance to talk to Professor Snape alone following that Sunday afternoon in his office when she'd barged in on him before Harry had interrupted. He'd been avoiding her, she was sure. He'd been in an even fouler mood than ever – stomping about the castle and taking so many House points across all four houses that Gryffindor was in the negatives and the other teachers were annoyed - but despite that, he had assigned all her detentions to Madam Pince – who'd put her in charge of reorganizing sections of the Restricted Section on Snape's orders.

She supposed she should've been grateful for the access it granted her to the banned books, and though she'd been making use of it, Hermione found herself wishing she'd be given another detention with Snape in his office, his classroom, or even just his general vicinity. He wouldn't even look at her after that day in his office and Hermione was left trying to figure out if he'd distanced himself because of the way her patronus had changed, and acted, or because of what she'd done with the Light and Dark magic. She wondered if he was just embarrassed, having revealed that he'd once been dating Harry's mum.

Harry was still simmering over it, wandering around muttering over the notion, beyond shocked and seeming not to believe it, despite the proof. He'd told Ron, but then asked the two of them to keep the information to themselves. She suspected he thought it would tarnish Lily's memory to have people recall or discover that she'd dated Death Eater Severus Snape before marrying James Potter. Hermione knew that in Harry's mind, his opinion and his ideas about his mother had been forever altered.

He seemed lost, unsure how to reconcile this idea of his mother once dating a man whom – to Harry – had no redeeming qualities and was an all-around bastard. She'd encouraged him to reach out to Remus about it, knowing that if anyone other than Snape could tell him about what had happened back then, it would be Remus.

"Alright there, Hermione?" Ron asked her quietly the night before they were all due to take the train home for Christmas.

Hermione looked up from her Defence essay to meet Ron's gaze, smiling.

"I'm fine," she nodded. "And you?"

Ron shrugged before glancing around the almost empty common room. Harry had taken himself off to bed almost an hour ago, muttering about his mother again, leaving the two of them to their homework.

"You busy?" Ron asked softly, and Hermione recognised the tone in his voice and the awkward shuffle of his feet.

He wanted sex.

Hermione tipped her head to one side, tossing up whether she was in the mood. She felt a bit like shagging anyone would be betraying Professor Snape, but the minute she had the thought, Hermione realised what a fool she was. The man was avoiding her. He was her teacher. He was her elder. He was obviously trying to discourage her crush on him, and he'd likely appreciate the idea of her finding someone else to see to her needs – he'd even said as much when he'd been inside her head and found out about her and Ron in the first place.

"Want to take a walk with me?" Hermione asked quietly, making up her mind.

"Yeah," Ron nodded, his lips twitching a little.

"Let me put my things away," she said. "Two seconds."

Ron nodded, throwing himself down in the armchair by the fire while Hermione put all her things back in her bag and ran it upstairs to her dormitory. She felt a twinge of guilt when she spied Lavender sitting on her bed and attempting to wrap a giant teddy-bear in Christmas paper, but she didn't let it stop her. When she hurried back downstairs, Ron got to his feet and set off for the portrait hole and Hermione followed him.

"Everything alright?" she asked him when they were three corridors away from the common room and he still hadn't taken her hand or spoken a word to her.

"Yeah," Ron nodded, glancing at her for a long moment. "Listen, you don't have to… you know… help me out, if you're not up for it, Hermione. We had a deal."

"I thought you were dating Lavender," she said quietly, taking his hand and pulling him into an abandoned classroom. She used Severus's wards to lock and barricade the room, watching Ron pace to the back of the classroom and back again.

"Yeah… uh… I am," Ron said, frowning and glancing at her guiltily.

"Things aren't going well?" she asked curiously, noting how truly agitated he seemed.

"Um… not exactly," Ron admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and continuing to pace. "Listen, can I ask you something?"

"Anything," Hermione smiled. "You know I don't have secrets from you, Ron."

Ron's mouth twisted on what looked like a very bitter smile.

"I don't think either of us believe that, love," he said, chuckling even as he paced the length of the classroom and back again. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

"Ron, what is it?" she asked. "You haven't been this on edge since just after the first time we ever snogged, when you thought that you'd bollocksed our entire friendship."

"I know," Ron said, fisting handfuls of his hair.

"Whatever it is, just ask me, Ron. You're hardly going to shock me."

"Am I rubbish in bed?" he blurted.

"What?" Hermione asked. "Why would you ask that? Of course, you're not rubbish. I mean, we were both a bit clumsy early on, but that changed with practice. And we got a  _lot_  of practice over the summer."

Ron's lips pulled up into a genuine smile for a moment and he surprised her when he took three quick strides to close the distance between the two of them, claiming her lips in a soft kiss that almost made her melt.

"Are you sure?" he asked when he pulled back again, looking worried all over again.

"I think I've shagged you enough times to know if you're any good at it, Ron," she told him. "Why? What's happened?"

"I um… bloody hell. So, me and Lav kind of agreed on a shag for Christmas, you know? Get it out of the way and all that. And last night we snuck off – dunno if you noticed?"

"How could I not when you were led away by the hand to a symphony of giggles and you returned a while later with your shirt on inside out and sporting a love bite?" Hermione asked dryly. "Even Harry noticed."

"Right. Well, yeah. I mean, we shagged," Ron said, sighing and dropping down to sit on the desk opposite where she stood, running his hand through his hair once more and looking confused.

"It went badly?" Hermione guessed, frowning and sitting across from him.

"Well… I don't know if I'd say it was  _bad_ ," Ron frowned. "It was just… weird. Awkward. Just, kind of off, you know?"

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Was there no spark? No attraction? Did she baby-talk, during?"

Ron laughed. "She did actually, but I shut her up pretty quick. Likes to try and talk with her mouth full, Lav."

"Charming, Ronald," Hermione laughed.

"Sorry. Too much detail. Anyway, there was spark and despite the chatter, that was alright… it just… it wasn't… I don't think she… um…"

"She didn't orgasm?" Hermione guessed again.

Ron sighed.

"I don't think so. I think she faked it," Ron admitted, puffing out his cheeks. "You never faked it, right?"

Hermione smiled and shook her head.

"Faking it would've just encouraged bad behaviour," she told him. "But just because I like certain things doesn't mean that any other witch will, Ron. We're all different. There are things you like that the other wizards I've been with don't."

Ron paused.

"Wizards, plural?" he asked, frowning at her. "I thought it'd only been me and Krum for you?"

Hermione smiled at him. "Just because I'm not so obvious as to giggle while dragging a boy away by the hand doesn't mean you're the only one getting laid, Ron," she said.

"Who?" he asked, frowning.

Hermione shrugged. "Does it matter? I won't be doing it again."

"That bad at it, was he?" Ron asked, and Hermione would swear she caught the faintest hint of jealousy in his tone but she let it slide.

"That good, actually," Hermione said quietly. "Some people are a bit like caramel pie. Something you crave once in a blue moon, but not something you'd be able to enjoy every single day without feeling ill."

"I could eat caramel pie every day," he told her.

Hermione laughed.

"For you, this person would be the equivalent of Fleur's quadruple chocolate parfait," Hermione told him.

"Oh," Ron said, frowning. "Yeah, I couldn't eat that every day."

"Exactly."

"Who was it?" Ron asked curiously, unlikely to let it go. Hermione almost wished that she hadn't mentioned it.

"I'm keeping this secret for a while longer," she told him quietly. "It's still a bit fresh."

"You were dating someone, and you didn't tell us?" Ron asked, frowning now.

"No," Hermione shook her head. "Just… um… just sex."

Ron eyed her for a long minute in silence, trying to read her, trying to figure out who it could've been.

"If you've been shagging Snape like Harry accused, I might cry, Hermione," he said shrewdly.

"That's where your mind goes when I suggest quadruple chocolate parfait?" Hermione scoffed, her heart skipping a nervous beat.

Ron laughed. "Right, so that was a bit of a silly suggestion, but I want to know who's had their hands on my girl."

"We agreed that I wasn't your girl. Just your toy," Hermione said.

"You're not a toy, Hermione," he shook his head. "You're just too much witch for me. I need someone simple who can't outsmart me when we fight."

Hermione grinned. "Why am I here, then? I hardly think Lavender would be pleased to hear that the boy she shagged last night is kissing his best friend. You haven't told her about us, have you?"

"We promised not to," Ron shrugged. "And I just… She faked it, Hermione. And I needed to make sure I wasn't rubbish at it."

"Well, you're not," she said, tipping her head to one side, regarding him carefully. He eyed her in return and Hermione recognised the look in his eyes. He wanted to shag her again; always the boy with something to prove.

Guilt nipped at her psyche to think that were their places reversed, she'd be hurt if Lavender were to shag her boyfriend. It scalded across her senses, too, that Professor Snape would probably never touch her again if she was shagging one of her friends when she couldn't shag him.

Hell, for all she knew he was off shagging someone else, himself. They weren't committed to each other and there were a million reasons she needed to forget Severus, anyway. Maybe Ron could help her forget.

He must've recognised the gleam in her eyes because he slipped off the desk across from hers and invaded her personal space once more, standing between her legs as they parted to accommodate him. He slid his hands into her hair and Hermione reached for him hungrily, her lips tingling with the urge to be snogged senseless. Closing the distance between them, Hermione knotted her hands in his soft red hair and kissed him hotly.

He groaned as he kissed her back, his hands sliding over her shoulders and down her back, grinding her against his erection. Hermione let herself get lost in the moment and the sweet sensations pulsing through her under his familiar touch. She pushed away the guilt about Lavender and Severus. She pushed away her worries about Harry, and Ginny, and the war, and her parents. All summer long she'd lost herself in the feel of Ron's lips and Ron's arms. It was entirely too easy, there in that chilly classroom, to lose herself one more time.

They peeled each other out of their clothing in a flurry of groping hands and clumsy kisses and Hermione laughed when he thrust inside her, her eyes closed as she simply lived in that single moment. He kissed her neck, suckling the sensitive flesh and leaving a mark, but when he met her eyes as he took her, he was grinning. She knew, on some level, that he loved her, and that she loved him in return. He was easy, most of the time. Easy to get into bed. Easy to be with. Easy to make smile. Easy to understand. And easy to please.

Tonight, she needed that. Ron needed it, too, and he took his time plucking the strings of her pleasure just to see what little sounds he could coax from her lips. She knew he loved it when she was vocal, moaning or sighing, or even muttering profanity sometimes, as he was wont to do.

When she raked her nails down his back, arching under him and whimpering her completion, Ron gave a triumphant little chuckle, increasing his pace until he grew jerky, and following her over the edge shortly after. The cold floor of the classroom bit into her flesh when he collapsed on top of her, but Hermione didn't mind. It almost made her feel more alive, more in the moment.

"Why is being with you so easy when it comes to sex, but so complicated in every other way?" he asked, rolling off her to lay beside her, panting.

"Because we trust and love each other enough to completely let go when we're shagging," Hermione told him, "but the rest of the time we're at odds over opinion, or a million other things about life that can't just be solved with a hot kiss and a quick shag."

"Smarty-pants," he accused.

Hermione smiled, laying her head on his chest and letting him hold her close for a few minutes.

"So, it isn't like that with Lavender?" she asked finally when she got cold enough to reach for her clothes once more.

"She's complicated in bed," Ron muttered. "Everything else with her is easy. I haven't got to worry about big words or being outsmarted in a fight. But in bed she's just… not unresponsive… just not you, I guess."

Hermione chuckled.

"If only you could meld the two of us together, eh?" she teased.

"Merlin, I'd pay to see that," he told her, pulling his shirt on and leaning against the wall, tugging her back to lean against him. "And your mystery bloke? Is he easy, or complicated?"

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes and resting against her best friend, liking the way he played with her fingers absently.

"Complicated," she whispered. "So  _bloody_  complicated that he makes Harry look easy."

"And I'm supposed to believe it's not Snape?" Ron scoffed.

Hermione hesitated, biting her lip with indecision before doing as she'd always done and blurting her secrets to Ron.

"What if it was?" she asked quietly.

Ron stilled, tilting his head to one side to meet her eyes.

"Is it?" he asked, his voice lowering.

Hermione didn't answer immediately, hoping he might tell her what he'd think if she were to admit that she'd fucked Snape.

"Aw, Hermione," Ron sighed, shaking his head and pressing a soft kiss to the top of her bare shoulder. "Really? I… really? Why? What could possibly attract you to someone like him? He's wretched in looks and personality, love. Wicked. Dark. Twisted. Cruel. Ugly. You need someone better than that, love. Gods, if you want to push the age bar that much and you want someone clever like you, at least go for someone decent like Remus, yeah? Someone who won't sell your soul to whichever master says jump."

Hermione's eyes filled slowly, her gaze blurring at Ron's lack of hostility. He wasn't angry with her. He wasn't judging her. He was just worried for her well-being.

"That's all you've got to say about it?" she asked.

"You actually shagged  _him_?" Ron asked. "He's our teacher, Hermione. Do you know what they'd say about you and how they'd doubt your good grades if they knew?"

Hermione nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"I know," she said. "I know. It's ridiculous and stupid and Harry would  _kill_  me if he knew… but I just…"

"You fancy him?" Ron asked quietly.

"I don't know," Hermione said helplessly, her secrets spilling from her lips, unchecked. "Sometimes I hate him as much as Harry does, but other times I just want to get  _closer_ , you know. I like listening to him talk, and he's really clever, even if he is a total arse about it, and I just…"

She trailed off, unable to explain how alluring she found Snape to be, and Ron chuckled very softly.

"You sound like me when I try to rationalise what I see in Lav," he told her. "And I know you've held your tongue on her less that pleasing attributes, so if you're actually serious that you've been shagging Snape, I won't judge you, love. But you've got to know that this can't end well."

"I know," Hermione nodded, turning her face into his neck and breathing in his scent, like freshly mown grass and spearmint toothpaste. "It's stupid. I'm a complete fool. I should never have… and well, I know that he thinks it was stupid, but it's done and there's no way to take it back."

"True," Ron said. "I just… Really? Snape?"

Hermione laughed just a little, a hiccup of sound escaping her.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Snape. Really. I don't even… I can't explain it. He thinks it's a result of Dolohov's curse – my interest in him and my growing intrigue with the Darker side of the magical world."

"You disagree?" Ron asked quietly.

Hermione nodded. "I've always craved knowledge for the sake of knowing everything. I spend an inordinate amount of time peeking into the Restricted Section and researching branches of magic that, these days, are considered Dark. I just want to know things. I always have. My interest in 'Dark' magic was a natural progression from what I've already learned."

"And Snape?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged.

"I don't know. I like his voice. And I like watching his hands when he's preparing ingredients in class. And I kind of like how horrid he is, sometimes."

"Masochist," Ron accused, shaking his head and dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "I really hope you're going to tell me that you're joking, and you've just been shagging someone less awful, like… I don't know… Cormac or Malfoy or something."

"Things would be easier that way, wouldn't they?"

"Well, maybe with Cormac. We could just torment you for having rotten taste and that'd be that. Malfoy would almost be as bad. He's a Death Eater too, you know? You get that part, right? Snape might be a spy for the Order, but he's a Death Eater, too. He was a Death Eater, first. He's done bad things, Hermione."

"I know," she whispered. "I've seen his Dark Mark."

"Ew. You've seen the greasy dungeon bat naked. Should I get you some eye-bleach for Christmas?" Ron asked, making a face.

Hermione swatted him.

"He's quite nice to look at once you get past all those buttons," Hermione said quietly, and Ron groaned.

"If you start sharing about how fit you think he is, I'm going to tell you things about Lav," Ron warned her. "Like, she's got this really cute little freckle on her…"

"Arse," Hermione finished for him. "I know. I've seen that, too."

"If you tell me you've been hooking up with my girlfriend on the sly, Hermione, I'm probably going to beg the two of you to put on a show for me. Know that before you explain when you saw her arse."

"First of all, gross," Hermione told him. "As if we'd let you watch? Second of all, I've seen it because she and Parvati parade around the dormitory in their knickers all the time. And besides, considering how frosty she's been to me since she started dating you – believing that she stole you away from me – I don't think she'd be thrilled by any suggestion of a threesome, Ron."

"Pity," Ron grumbled.

"I don't imagine she'd be thrilled if she could see us right now, either," Hermione said. "If you're actually serious about dating her, you can't keep sleeping around on her, you know?"

"Says the girl shagging Snape. Merlin's beard, he'll murder me if he finds out about this," Ron said, paling.

"He would not," Hermione rolled her eyes. "He'd probably be relieved that I'd seen the Light and forgotten about shagging him in favour of someone my own age whose less likely to get me killed or scorned for eternity."

"How did this even happen?" Ron asked. "I mean, it's Snape. Is he… bloody hell, he's not in the habit of seducing students, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes again.

"I think it's safe to say that I'm the exception."

"You  _are_  pretty amazing. I make all kinds of exceptions for you," Ron agreed, grinning and Hermione pecked him on the lips, smiling.

"Thank you," she laughed. "But, no. He's probably never shagged a student before me. He… um… he was pretty badly injured when he came back from a meeting and I healed him – it's why I was so late and why my Bruise Salve got ruined. He was a bit drunk, and fairly immersed in his Occlumency shields. I had to talk him out of them and he's…. different when he's in the Death Eater mindset, as opposed to the teacher mindset. It just kind of happened. I had to strip him to keep him from bleeding out and, well, then he was naked, and I was horny and… well, now I've shagged Professor Snape."

Ron shook his head.

"You realise that if I just came out and announced I'd shagged McGonagall or something, you'd flip."

"Professor McGonagall is in her sixties, Ron," Hermione reminded him, wrinkling her nose. "Severus is only thirty-six."

"Oh, now it's Severus?" he teased and Hermione blushed.

"Shut up," she swatted him. "Let's just talk about something else. Like your anxiety over Lavender faking it."

"Hit a guy when he's down, Hermione," Ron muttered, though he was chuckling.

"What do you have to be down about? I just shagged you silly."

"Yeah, but you've been shagging  _Snape_ ," Ron said, looking ill at the very idea. "Maybe we should both see the nurse. Merlin knows what he might have."

"He's a Potions Master and he stocks the hospital, Ron. If he ever  _had_  contracted anything, he'd have cured it himself."

"Comforting," Ron snorted.

"Tell me about Lavender. I don't want to talk about Snape anymore.'

"Because he's a greasy old git hitting on a girl less than half his age," Ron muttered. "What do you want to know about Lav? You live with her. You probably know more than I do."

"What makes you think she faked it?"

"She screamed, Hermione," Ron grumbled, running a hand through his hair. "Like, a really put-on, I'm-trying-too-hard, kind of scream. Nearly scared me half to death because up until then she'd given maybe one little moan and then she just screamed like maybe she just wanted it to be over."

"Not everyone is comfortable being vocal, Ron. Maybe the scream slipped out because she couldn't help it."

Ron eyed her. "Love, I've felt you clenching and pulsing around me enough to know how it feels when a witch is coming. There wasn't any pulsing. Just a random scream."

"Maybe not enough foreplay?" Hermione frowned.

"I used my fingers for at least ten minutes, and my mouth for fifteen before I even unbuttoned my jeans, Hermione," Ron sighed.

"Oh. Well, I don't know, maybe she was overthinking it too much. Was it her first time?"

"This is Lavender, Hermione," Ron scoffed. "She's been shagging around since fourth year."

"Maybe she hasn't," Hermione shrugged. "Maybe the rumours were all just stories. No one would believe you if you told everyone I was a tart who slept around with the likes of Viktor Krum, and you, and Professor Snape. Maybe no one wants to believe she was a virgin because she's such a flirt."

"You think so?" Ron asked, frowning. "Shit. What if I hurt her?"

Hermione shrugged. "Everyone hurts a little the first time," she offered. "But if you're really worried about it, you should talk to her."

"How am I meant to do that when I'm sitting here smelling like you?" he asked.

"Try showering," Hermione teased. "I know it's a foreign concept for you, but I promise it won't kill you."

"Witch, I'll shower you," he muttered, his hands finding the back of her neck and pulling her close so he could steal another kiss from her lips. Hermione kissed him back softly, nibbling his bottom lip lightly and smiling as she pulled away. "We're rubbish people for this, you know?"

Hermione nodded.

"I know. But it's just a fling with Lavender, right?"

"Is it just a fling for you and Snape?" Ron asked rather than answering.

"A fling that's already over, I'm afraid," she sighed. "He won't even look at me."

"Git."

Hermione snorted.

"You've been holding that in, haven't you?"

Ron nodded. "He's a right foul git who'll rip your heart out and try to feed it you. He's rotten to the core and he's got no right to be laying a finger on my girl. I make no promises not to hex him stupid, and not to blacken his eye."

"You know he'd out-duel you in a heartbeat and he'd probably hit you back, don't you?" she asked.

"It'd be worth it in defence of your honour," Ron assured her.

"Except that all mention of it would mean he'd know I told you we'd been shagging and then he'd try to murder me," Hermione pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but I'd get to punch him," Ron grinned.

"You know Harry will have a cow if he ever finds out?" Hermione sighed.

"Harry would have kittens if he knew about us, Hermione," Ron laughed, helping her up when she went in search of her jumper, getting cold as the flush of their exertions wore off.

"He'd have an entire  _menagerie_  if he knew about Severus," Hermione muttered.

"Everyone would, love. Look, it's not my place to tell you who to shag, but Snape's bad news. There's a reason everyone in the Order hates him, and any association with him would paint you with the same brush. You've shagged him, and that's that. If it's done, let it be done. If it's not… well… maybe keep it as close to your chest as you can and don't let anyone else find out, yeah? I'm taking most of your secrets to my grave, and this one can be tucked into my pocket, too. I don't want to shame you or anything, Hermione, I just don't want to see the looks people would give you if they knew."

Hermione sighed, nodding her head in agreement.

"I wasn't planning on telling anyone else," she said.

"Wouldn't mind keeping this a secret, too, would you?" He asked, waving his hand between them as he pulled his jumper back on over his head.

"I could be persuaded," Hermione smiled wickedly.

"I've already shagged you into submission," Ron laughed. "What else do you want?"

"I'm fairly sure my silence could be bought with a back rub," she grinned and Ron laughed.

"Yeah, that'd go a long way to keeping this a secret if I just peeled you out of your clothes and started running my hands all over you."

"I never said it had to be a public show," Hermione smirked. "What are you doing now?"

"Sneaking you up to my bed when we get back to the common room?" he suggested, grinning.

"And have Harry catch us?"

"He's seen me give you a back rub before," Ron reminded her, recalling the summer when she'd had the worst PMT of her life and Ron had taken pity on her.

"You know, sometimes you're very clever, Ronald Weasley," she said.

"Always the tone of surprise," he laughed in return, holding still when she put her hands on his shoulders and jumped onto his back, insisting on a piggy-back ride back to the common room.

He carried her the whole way back and the Fat Lady eyed them like they'd gone mad as he carried her inside. The common room was deserted when they crossed it and Ron didn't balk even once before carrying her up the stairs to the boy's dormitories and over to his four-post bed. Around them, Dean and Seamus had both pulled their curtains, while Neville snored on with his curtains wide open. Harry's were partially drawn, and he was tossing and turning in bed, muttering something too low to hear, but obviously fast asleep.

"Is he always like this?" Hermione asked of Ron as she eyed her other best friend carefully.

"These days?" Ron sighed. "Usually he's worse. Keeps the lads awake, most nights. He curses a lot in his sleep, and hisses away in parslemouth. Sometimes I can settle him, but other times he jolts awake in a cold sweat and looks ready to kill someone until he recognises me."

He crossed the small space between his bed and Harry's, putting a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder and stilling the other boy. Hermione perched on the edge of his bed too, smoothing her hands through his hair and noting the way he slowly relaxed.

"Helps if I push my magic at him, sometimes," Ron told her quietly, rubbing his hand in a circle over Harry's back and focusing intently.

"You have the same magical core as Harry?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Yeah," Ron nodded. "Figured it out one day last year during a DA meeting. He was adjusting my grip on my wand to cast my patronus and our magic channelled. I think it spooked him a bit, having no idea what it was. I couldn't think of a way to explain it without making it sound like we were soulmates or something."

"What is your core?" Hermione asked curiously, never having found out before. During sex their magic tended to brush, but nothing like what she'd done with Snape had ever occurred.

"Fire," Ron told her, shrugging his shoulders. "Same as Harry. Both got a temper, see? Do you know what you are? Always thought you must be fire, like us, but we've never done any combined casting or transference."

"You know about all that stuff?" she asked, surprised.

"I'm a pureblood, Hermione. I learned that stuff in my crib," Ron said. "Mum and Dad might not have been able to afford anything fancy for us kids, but they could make sure we knew all about our magical world and the history of our race."

Hermione nodded slowly, feeling the flare of magic pass from Ron and into Harry though she couldn't quite touch it.

"I'm ice," she whispered, smiling sadly.

"Really?" Ron frowned. "That's really rare, Hermione. No wonder you and me are so explosive, eh?"

Hermione nodded, smoothing her hand through Harry's hair one more time and watching the way he relaxed with the feel of Ron's magic woven against his own.

"I had no idea," she told him. "I um… there was a bit of an incident when I was… you know… with, erm… you know… and then I looked it up."

"He's ice, too?" Ron asked. "Blimey. How's that for luck, eh? Come on, love. Into bed and get your shirt off. I believe I owe you a backrub."

Hermione smiled, noting that he looked a bit uncomfortable to have her know he was weaving his magic with Harry's to help him sleep easier, and to know she'd transferred magic with Snape. Crossing back to Ron's bed, she pulled her jumper off over her head and ditched her jeans before crawling into his bed. Ron was grinning at her as he pulled the curtains most of the way closed, leaving a small gap so that he could keep an eye on Harry through them, lest he stirred again.

"Shirt off," he whispered, tapping her side.

"And have the rest of the boys see me topless when I fall asleep, during?" Hermione asked.

"Spoil sport," Ron muttered. "Fine, but at least lift it. You'll get cream on it if you don't."

"You have cream?" Hermione asked before making a face over what he might use it for.

"Don't give me that look, it's Heat Cream for aching muscles from quidditch," he told her.

"Sure it is," Hermione teased, pulling her shirt up as far as she could.

Ron unhooked her bra and she wriggled around to pull it off before settling back down.

"Trust me, it is. The last thing you want to do is get anything with this kind of burn anywhere near your privates, love," he told her, putting a big dollop of the cream on her back.

The instant warmth made her think he was telling the truth and she hummed in appreciation when he straddled her bum and used both hands, working the cream into her skin carefully, taking his time about it and positively spoiling her.

"You're too good to me," she told him softly over her shoulder as sleep nestled up to her, wanting to claim her. Ron chuckled, leaning forward and stealing a soft kiss from her lips.

"Someone's got to be, what with your rubbish taste in men," Ron told her.

"I fancied you for ages before this happened, you know?" Hermione reminded him.

"You still fancy me," Ron teased. "You just don't know what to do with me when you start lecturing me on something and I give you my puppy-dog look because half the words are going over my head. If you could just learn to use smaller words, we'd be amazing together."

"Aside from the fighting, obviously," Hermione smiled.

"Well, obviously," Ron told her. "But smaller words could help there, too."

"And your obsession with Quidditch chatter that goes over my head?" she asked.

"Well, I could learn to talk about other things some of the time if you could see your way clear to talking Quidditch with me a bit," Ron said.

"Compromise, you think?" she teased.

"As though we aren't both too stubborn for that," Ron chuckled, shaking his head and working his thumbs into the little dimples on her lower back, making her pelvis ache in the best way and releasing so much of the tension there that she could just drift right off to sleep.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

When she did drift off, Ron continued working his hands up and down her back until all the cream was rubbed in. He watched her sleep, feeling the familiar twist of affection and protectiveness stirring inside of him. Her wild curls were loose and tangled, partially covering her face. He used a quick cleaning charm on his hands before climbing off her and pulling her shirt down once more. Stripping out of his jeans and his jumper, all the way down to his boxers, Ron shuffled her over carefully, shaking his head fondly when she grizzled.

As soon as he was tucked in beside her, he pulled the covers over both of them, curling his arms around her snugly and holding her close. He brushed his magic along the length of hers while she slept, smiling at the familiar feel of his favourite witch. Peering at her through the dark, Ron watched the way the puff of her breath stirred her curls and he pressed his lips to her forehead carefully.

He didn't for a single second like the idea that she'd been shagging Snape. He'd accepted that as much as he loved her, they weren't right for each other, but he didn't think someone like Snape was right for his girl, either. His girl needed someone strong and dedicated. Someone clever and unafraid of her when she lost her formidable temper. She needed someone who would give her back rubs and tuck her into bed at night and hold her close. She needed someone who would remind her to eat when she got distracted by a good book; someone who would bring her a fresh pot of tea without being asked; someone who'd fix her breakfast the way she liked – with the crispy bacon and the barely cooked toast and entirely too much sauce to be healthy.

Snape wasn't that bloke. He was the kind of bloke who'd sneer at her when her hair was a nest and she couldn't find her bookmark because it was tangled in her curls. He was the kind who'd make her feel two feet tall on days when she was already down, thinking she needed to be cut back to size when she got too big for her britches and started lecturing everyone like she knew more about magic than they did. He was the type who'd get her killed, or let her be seduced by the Dark arts. He was the kind who'd break her spirit just to watch her crumble, and Ron didn't know how he was going to do it, but he was going to keep the greasy git away from her.

He'd just have to figure out a way.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Severus eyed Lucius Malfoy over the rim of his whiskey tumbler, watching the blond wizard slowly imbibing enough whiskey to drown a House Elf. His worry for Draco was evident in every line on his once handsome face. The boy would be returning for the holidays tomorrow and Lucius feared the Dark Lord would kill him for failing thus far in his task to murder Dumbledore.

Severus was worried too, if he was being honest. The boy continued to refuse his help and Severus doubted the Dark Lord would be merciful.

"Have you been helping him, Severus?" Lucius asked, slurring just a little.

"Draco continues to refuse all offers of assistance, Lucius. What would you have me do? The boy no longer trusts me."

"You need to help him," Lucius muttered. "You're his godfather."

"And you're his father. What are  _you_  doing to help him, other than drinking yourself into a stupor and timidly stammering in the Dark Lord's presence?"

"How dare you speak to me like that in my own house!" Lucius hissed, ever an angry and irrational drunk.

"Ignore him, Severus," Narcissa said softly when Lucius leapt to his feet and stomped across the room to fetch another decanter of whiskey, apparently too drunk to recall how to use his wand.

"Yes, ignore me," Lucius muttered. "Just like she does."

Narcissa rolled her eyes.

"Bet you wouldn't want to keep ignoring me if I suggested we both fuck Severus again though, would you, Cissy?" Lucius sneered, stalking back with more whiskey and handing the entire decanter to Severus before perching on the edge of his armchair.

Severus eyed the blonde witch, who was making a face of annoyance at her husband, while Lucius reached out and tangled his fingers into Severus's hair.

"Perhaps another time, Lucius, darling," Narcissa said, catching the way Severus stiffened at being touched. "When you're a little more alert to properly enjoy it."

"I'll enjoy it plenty now, thank you very much," Lucius drawled and Severus sighed when the bastard pulled his hair a little too hard for comfort. Subtly aiming his wand, he caught Lucius in the ribs with a Stunning spell, sending him sprawling to the floor, unconscious.

"Well," Narcissa sighed. "I do wish my husband would stop making such an utter arse of himself. I actually wouldn't have minded an evening of carnality."

Severus's smirked at her.

"Have you ever minded an evening of carnality, Cissy?" Severus drawled wickedly and she blushed.

"I forget, sometimes," she said softly, tipping her head to regard him with a little smile on her face. "When you're all so caught up in pleasing the Dark Lord, I tend to forget just how wicked your tongue can be, Severus Snape."

"Too bad he got drunk, or I'd provide physical evidence of my tongue's full repertoire of skills," Severus replied.

"Don't tease me, Severus. I'm of half a mind to tell him he simply blacked out and forgot, if you're willing to play along?" Narcissa flirted in return, tracing one long fingernail along her crimson lower lip and eyeing him hungrily.

Severus eyed her in return, feeling none of the past ardour he'd enjoyed when she looked at him like that. It had been years since he'd been invited to bed with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy – not since before Draco started at Hogwarts, he was sure - but he recalled that when he had been, he'd thoroughly enjoyed the witch. Sipping from his whiskey glass carefully, Severus clenched his free hand around his wand, frustrated by the thought that perhaps his lack of interest stemmed from recent encounters with a certain curly-haired menace.

"I am always willing to play along with any of your brilliant ideas, Narcissa," Severus purred, downing the rest of his drink in annoyance and planning to fuck the pretty witch three was from Sunday until he forgot all about the taste and feel of Miss Granger.

Narcissa giggled, rising gracefully to her feet. "Well, now I just feel like Christmas has come," she flirted.

"I don't know about Christmas," Severus drawled in reply, "But you certainly will."

Narcissa giggled again, giving a little quiver of excitement as she crossed the sitting room to take him by the hand, intent on leading him down the hall and into the master bedroom. Severus flicked his wand over his shoulder, levitating Lucius along behind them and trying to focus on the feel of Narcissa's long nails tracing patterns over the back of his hand.

He narrowed her eyes when it recalled to mind, not memory of her tracing those nails over his back or down the length of his cock, but instead the memory of a slightly smaller hand that bore ink stains carefully holding his. Narcissa spun on him the minute they'd entered the bedroom, invading his personal space and leaning in to kiss his neck hungrily, her hands making short work of the buttons on his robes while Severus tried to focus on getting Lucius into the room and over to sprawl haphazardly across the bed.

She didn't bother trying to kiss his lips, knowing better by now, and Severus tipped his head back, his hands finding her petite waist and pulling her close, attempting to lose himself in the sensations as she tore at his clothes with all the ferocity of a hell-cat. Severus grunted when she shoved him back against the bedroom door, having forgotten how rough Narcissa Malfoy liked to play. He tightened his grip on her until she ground herself against his growing erection, mewling needily.

Severus twisted the pair of them, shoving her up against the door instead and hiking up the skirt of her floor-length green gown, bunching it about her petite waist and dipping his hands under it. She was naked beneath the skirt and Severus smirked when he leaned into her, latching onto her neck hard enough to leave a mark, his fingers sluicing through her already-slick folds and making her writhe.

"So wet for me already, Cissy?" Severus taunted, his lips by her ear, knowing the witch lived for dirty-talk. "One might think that your pretty husband wasn't tantalizing you as he should."

"One might be correct," Narcissa mewled softly when he drove two fingers inside her slick pussy, her head thrown back against the door, her chest pushed forwards, cleavage straining against the low-cut neckline of her dress, just begging him to rip her free of the fabric to taste her soft skin.

"Isn't he up for the task?" Severus asked, beckoning his fingers inside her. "Does he not appreciate what a fine and rare witch he has?"

Narcissa moaned, always a vain witch who loved to be told how beautiful she was.

"He's been too distracted," she panted. "Gods, Severus, you never disappoint, do you?"

Severus smirked, meeting her gaze when she looked at him with lustful eyes.

"I endeavour not to," he said.

"Make me forget, Severus," she begged, her hips rolling into each thrust of his fingers and a little cry escaping her when he pinched her clit. "Make me forget that my son's life is in danger, and my house has been overrun by wretched scum and a megalomaniac who dares threaten the lives of my family."

Severus nipped her neck lightly in punishment, chastising her for her open admittance of displeasure with the Dark Lord, here in the private of her bedroom where she didn't have to smile prettily and pretend she didn't want to bury a dagger in the Dark Lord's eye for daring to threaten her son.

"Make me forget that my husband is so terrified, he doesn't even look at me with those wickedly gleaming eyes I love so much," she begged, riding his fingers with abandon. "Make me feel young and carefree again, Severus. Please, for the love of Merlin, make me feel like nothing matters more than the rush of impending orgasm."

Never one to deny so sweetly voiced a request from such a beautiful woman, Severus obliged, twisting his fingers and locating the spongy little patch of tissue within her that was guaranteed to make her scream. He tormented her relentlessly, biting her neck and grinding his cock against her leg as he finger-fucked her roughly.

Narcissa screamed out her release as she broke, and Lucius jerked awake with a soft shriek behind him. Severus almost sighed, not at all in the mood to be molested by a drunk and belligerent Lucius Malfoy but know it was part of the bargain to fuck Cissy.

"Having all the fun without me, are you?" he drawled from the bed.

"Everything is more fun without you, Lucius," Severus told him, withdrawing his fingers from inside Narcissa and bringing them to his lips as he turned to sneer at the other wizard.

"If I didn't know better, I'd be hurt," Lucius informed him, smirking wickedly as Severus licked the taste of Narcissa from his skin while the witch moulded herself against his back, her hands making short work of the fastenings on his trousers and dipping inside to encircle his cock.

She pulled his robes from his torso with her free hand, baring his skin to Lucius's lustful gaze and allowing herself access to his flesh. She nipped his shoulder as she stroked his cock, tracing the tip of her tongue over a long, faded scar that marred his right shoulder and Severus shivered.

"Don't tease, Cissy," Lucius drawled, his own hand travelling to the growing bulge in his trousers.

Narcissa giggled softly, fishing Severus cock from inside his trousers so that Lucius could watch her pretty little hand stroking him. Expertly, she worked her hand up and down his length, seeming to remember just how he liked it and Severus let his head tip back in delight, surrendering to the touch and lowering his guard there in the presence of the closest people he had left in his life.

He hissed when a warm, wet mouth replaced Narcissa's hand as he was walked across the room to the bed. Severus didn't open his eyes as he tangled his hands in fine blond hair, his hips twitching with the urge to brutally fuck that smart-mouth. He hated himself when his fingers carded through Lucius thick, straight locks, and found his skin missing the texture of riotous curls.

Reaching for Narcissa blindly with his free hand, Severus Vanished her dress, making her squeal with delight. He dragged her around in front of him, his hand closing over her delicate throat and pulling her closer. She dragged him with her, nudging Lucius aside and pushing him down until he was sprawled on the bed. Severus opened his eyes as she straddled his chest, now stark naked and such a pretty picture. Lucius's mouth was hot and wet, and Severus loathed that even there with the two of them, the feel of a hot mouth around his cock made him think of Granger.

Latching onto Narcissa's thighs, Severus dragged her up his body until she was sitting on his face, trying to drown the memories of Granger in the taste of Narcissa's sweet quim and the warmth of Lucius's mouth. He licked her out like a starving man craving sustenance and Narcisa writhed with pleasure. Even then, feasting on her delectable cream, he couldn't get that curly-haired little swot out of his head. When Lucius impaled himself upon Severus's cock, he gritted his teeth with the urge to let his darkest desires free, knowing that Lucius and Narcissa might never forgive him if he unleashed his every emotion as he'd done inside Granger.

"So fucking good," Lucius muttered, bouncing himself aboard Severus's cock and pulling at Narcissa until he could snog his wife while Severus continued to eat her out.

He'd never much cared for sex with another man and despite the tight sheath gripping his cock, Severus took little pleasure from the sex. His fingers bit into Narcissa's thighs and it was lucky the witch liked it rough, because he was rapidly losing the ability to be gentle. Lucius groaned when Severus began to buck under him.

He was losing control, and all the while the flashes of memory inside his head tormented him as nothing had in almost twenty years.

"Gods, Severus," Narcisa squealed as she came hard, her juices coating his face. Before she could recover, Severus lifted the witch with ease, shoving her down his body and impaling her upon Lucius's cock.

"Ah," Lucius groaned, his head dropping back to be buried inside his wife whilst impaled upon Severus. Severus twisted, his temper growing the longer her fucked the pair of them and the memory of Miss Granger remained. His jostling pushed Lucius to his back and Severus pulled out of him, muttering cleaning charms before he crawled up behind Narcissa. She was impossibly tight when he shoved his cock inside her quim alongside Lucius's and she groaned like a well-paid whore as he and Lucius took her in tandem.

He fucked her hard then, one hand on the back of her neck, the other biting into Lucius's thigh. Narcissa screamed again and Lucius began to curse foully when the two of them found completion. Severus bit the witch hard enough to leave marks when he closed his eyes and gave in to the incessant images filling his head of wild curls and a younger, tighter body sheathing his own. When he exploded inside of her it was with a roar of fury and defeat, and Severus rolled away before either of them could ask him what was wrong.

Leaving the husband and wife pair sprawled together on their king-sized bed, Severus muttered cleaning charms as he rolled to his feet and stood once more.

"Leaving so soon, Severus?" Lucius asked, looking sated, but sad to see him off so quickly.

"Not all of us have the pleasure of free time, Lucius," Severus told his closest friend softly as he dressed once more.

"Soon," Lucius murmured. "You know the Dark Lord means to make you Lord of Selwyn Hall. Soon it will be your bedroom we fuck in."

"I'd never get the pair of your out of my bed if I invited you into it," Severus scoffed, and Lucius smirked wickedly, knowing his own sexual appetite well enough that he didn't bother denying it.

"Preparations are almost complete, you know?" Lucius told him as Severus buttoned his robes once more, his hands trailing sensually down his wife's back where she rested on his chest, still impaled upon his cock.

"I am aware," Severus sighed.

"Aren't you happy, Severus?" Narcissa asked, frowning him.

"I don't imagine the Dark Lord means to make me Lord of anything without nefarious motives," Severus said evenly.

"Neither do I," Lucius admitted. "Be careful, my friend. I cannot begin to fathom his intentions, but I've heard rumours that whatever he is planning, Dolohov is involved. Many times in the past days Dolohov has come to call upon the Dark Lord here at the Manor."

Severus's blood ran cold at the very thought.

"He also asked me to prepare for the arrival of a very important guest," Narcissa told him softly. "His exact words were that I should set the table for an extra guest at Yule. The restorations at Selwyn Hall are almost complete, and so I believe he means to perform the ceremony over the holiday, Severus."

Severus nodded his head slowly, his brow furrowing.

"Did he give any hint of who the extra guest might be?" Severus asked softly as he fastened his cloak about his shoulders once more.

Narcissa shook her head. "No, but he seemed wickedly amused at his own request, so I suspect it's another in the long line of those that I disapprove at my dining table."

Severus nodded sharply despite how unhelpful her answer was. Narcissa disapproved of almost everyone, so there was little clue toward the identity of an unexpected guest.

"You don't have to leave, you know?" Lucius asked quietly when Severus slipped his shoes back on. "There's plenty of room in the bed, and plenty more I'd enjoy doing to you, old friend."

"If I stay, who will ensure that Draco makes it home in one piece?" Severus asked, raising one eyebrow.

Both blondes grew sombre at the mention of their son and Severus nodded in farewell before taking his leave. He couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that gripped him as he stalked through the dark and silent Manor. Nor could he forget the angering simmering in his gut that a certain know-it-all witch seemed to permeating his every wicked thought.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

Hermione packed her suitcase quietly, unable to look at Lavender as the other girl chatted animatedly to Parvati about how she'd been invited to the Burrow for a brief time over the holidays. She was loudly boasting about it as though Hermione hadn't been invited there every holiday since first year, and it was hard not to roll her eyes at the silly, simpering witch. She felt terribly guilty for shagging Ron last night when Lavender was obviously so smitten with Hermione's best friend, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. She never did, where Ron was concerned. Besides, Lavender was only being such a chit about it all because she thought it would bug her and Hermione couldn't help chuckling quietly to herself.

"Something funny, Hermione?" Parvati asked raising her eyebrows.

"It's just occurred to me that I'll have to put up with Lavender over Christmas," Hermione said.

"What?" Lavender asked. "You're going to Ron's house, too?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I spend a portion of every holiday as the Burrow," she said, smiling widely and feeling just a little bit like she might be channelling Severus – his magic still fluttering against her own from her little absorption trick the other day. "Mr and Mrs Weasley think of me like a daughter. It's practically my mailing address. Won't it be fun to share a bedroom there too, Lav?"

Lavender made a face, looking entirely furious and Hermione laughed wickedly as she finished packing her trunk and levitated it behind her, ready to leave.

"I'll bet they like me better than you," Lavender sneered quietly.

Hermione paused in the doorway on her way out, turning to look at Lavender over her shoulder.

"I'll bet Molly Weasley is going to eat you alive," Hermione replied, positively grinning at the thought of how Molly would react to having such a simpering twit for a potential daughter-in-law. Given how badly she'd taken to Fleur, Hermione could just imagine that Lavender was in for a very uncomfortable Christmas.

Without another word, Hermione left the blonde girl standing there looking pale and worried now, rather than spiteful.

"Alright there, Hermione?" Ron asked when she reached the common with a spring in her step.

"I'm fantastic," Hermione beamed at him. "I can't wait to see what your mother thinks of Lavender."

Ron laughed.

"Yeah," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I… uh… didn't get around to warning Lav about her, yet."

"What, really?" Harry asked, pausing in his feast on a chocolate frog to stare at his friend in alarm.

"Didn't want to spook her too much," Ron shrugged.

"This is going to be the best Christmas, ever," Hermione announced, skipping closer and stealing a bite of Harry's chocolate before leading the way out of the common room.

Harry and Ron followed her, arguing over the merits of warning Molly about Lavender and her simpering giggle. They dropped their trunks off in the Entrance Hall on the way to breakfast and Hermione almost stumbled as she skipped into the Great Hall and ran right into Professor Snape as he was on his way out.

"Oomph," she said, her hands coming up to rest against his chest while he gripped her shoulders, forcing her back a step and steadying her.

"Miss Granger," he drawled, eyeing her coolly before his eyes jumped to Ron and Harry behind her.

"You alright, Hermione?" Ron asked, his hand brushing the middle of her back.

"Fine," Hermione said. "Sorry for barrelling into you, sir."

"Watch where you're going next time, Miss Granger," he chastised, his hands tightening reflexively around her arms before he released her.

"Of course, sir," Hermione said, unable to keep the wide smile from her face. "Got any plans for Christmas, sir?"

He eyed her darkly, obviously less than pleased by her attempts at polite conversation.

"Unfortunately, yes," he replied, and Hermione almost laughed at how annoyed he seemed by the idea. "Now, go away, Miss Granger. You're entirely too cheery for so early in the morning."

"And I haven't even had my coffee yet," Hermione grinned. "Well, Happy Christmas, Professor Snape."

He narrowed his eyes on her, obviously thinking it ridiculous that she was bothering with such formality when he'd probably be dragged to some Order gathering at Headquarters over the holidays.

"Try to stay out of trouble, Miss Granger," he sneered in retort, stepping around her.

"But trouble is so much fun," Hermione heard herself softly say, watching the way his dark eyes darted to her face, flashing in warning. He didn't respond before stalking away, but Hermione couldn't keep the grin off her face.

"Twisted," she heard Ron mutter in her ear when they reached the Gryffindor table, but she ignored him as she fixed herself a hearty breakfast, in entirely too good a mood to let anything bother her.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

"It would be unwise to draw any undue attention to yourself over the holidays, Draco," Severus told his godson in the quiet of his office shortly before the train was supposed to depart.

"I'd figured that much out for myself, Severus," Draco drawled, entirely too snarky in his terror to bother with titles.

"Your attempts with the necklace and the poisoned mead will not go unnoticed," Severus went on quietly. "Claim that Potter interfered with the girl during her mission to bring the item to Dumbledore and the Dark Lord will be merciful. He is prone to making allowances when Potter meddles."

Draco curled his lip.

"You realise the focus this season will be on you, not me, don't you, Severus?" Draco asked, eyeing him over the rim of his tea-cup – laced with Calming Draught to ensure the boy actually took the train home rather than holing up in his dormitory all Christmas.

"I am aware," Severus inclined his head. "And yet, my concern lies with you."

For the briefest of moments, a flicker of the little boy Draco had once been could be seen and Severus almost wondered if the boy wasn't suddenly itching with the urge to climb over his desk and nestle into his arms, as he'd done as a tot whenever he was scared.

"Save your concerns for yourself, Uncle," Draco murmured softly, using a long-since-shelved title he'd once addressed him as before he could master the concept of godparents over blood relatives. "The whispers I've heard suggest that you're going to be given a few unpleasant gifts this Yule."

"Don't let one of them be your suffering or your death, Draco," Severus said quietly. "I'm afraid I might take issue with such a gift, and it would be a terrible day in Malfoy Manor were I to be seen spurning a gift bestowed upon me by the Dark Lord."

Draco's mouth twitched into a familiar smirk that Severus hadn't seen him wear all year before it fell from his face once more.

"How do you do it, Severus?" he asked quietly. "How do you not… spit in his face and call him a bastard? How do you stand there in his presence, defiantly speaking out when he makes certain suggestions, without fearing his wrath? All I want to do is pull my wand and curse him whenever I'm near him. I want to…"

Draco looked away, clenching his hand around his wand and gritting his teeth.

"When he threatens Mother and Father, I want to use the Killing curse, Uncle. I  _hate_  the Dark Lord," Draco blurted bitterly, and Severus wondered how long he'd been holding that in.

"No, Draco," Severus said gently. "You love the Dark Lord, as we all do."

Draco scoffed.

"I'd sooner abandon all blood purity and run off with a muggle than ever love the likes of that monster," he breathed, almost as though he couldn't believe he dared say such things.

Severus sipped his tea, eyeing his godson over the rim before he whispered. "Wouldn't we all?"

Draco dropped his cup, his hands shook so much at the admission, and Severus rose to his feet when the boy jumped up and rounded the desk, hurling himself against Severus's chest. He'd been wondering how long it might take before he broke, and Severus found himself pleased it was happening now, rather than in the middle of a meeting or in the presence of the Dark Lord. Catching his godson, Severus pulled him close as he hadn't since Draco had been just a boy.

He hated the humanity that stirred in his chest, the embrace recalling a million memories of Draco's childhood spent reading the boy stories and bouncing him on his knee and sneaking him sweets when Narcissa pretended not to look. It had been a long time since such memories had surfaced, buried deep beneath layers of Occlumency and hatred and wretchedness.

"I don't want to die," Draco breathed, his face hidden in Severus's shoulder.

"You won't, Draco," Severus told him. "I would commit the most heinous of crimes to protect you."

"He's going to kill my Mum and Dad," Draco whispered brokenly. "He'll torture them because I've failed."

The use of the terms 'mum' and 'dad' told tales of how scared Draco truly was. He hadn't referred to his parents by those titles since he'd been just a tot and Severus found his arms lifting to squeeze his godson into a tight embrace.

"He might torture them," Severus admitted. "He might torture you, too. And I won't be able to intervene. You need only get through the holiday, Draco. After that you will be out of his reach, once more."

"He's torturing them every time I fail," Draco shook his head.

"Not every time," Severus disagreed. "I was with your parents last night. They're in good health, but for their worry for you. They're anxious to see you."

Draco hands fisted the back of his robes as he tried to pull himself together, and he jerked away just as suddenly as he'd claimed the embrace, never wanting to seem weak. Severus understood the urge and he let the boy go, watching him turn his pale face away to hide his red eyes as he surreptitiously wiped at them.

"Will it ever end?" Draco asked quietly, his voice thick.

"One day," Severus nodded. "Perhaps sooner than you think."

Draco glanced at him sharply, his brows drawn, before he squared his shoulders and reached for his propriety once more.

"Thank you for the tea, and the advice, Severus," he said formally.

Severus inclined his head in turn, knowing it was best if Draco distanced himself once more, even if the shreds of humanity that still existed within Severus wished it didn't have to be so. Merlin's bollocks, he would kill Miss Granger for these wretched sparkles of humanity and  _feelings_  that he'd been enduring since the  _Essentia Ceangal_ that had occurred between them. They should have worn off, by now, and yet he would swear that little glitters of her magic were still interspersed amid his own, causing moments of weakness such as his revealing his past to Potter, and his sentiment over his godson.

Draco hurried from the room, leaving Severus alone once more and he dropped down to sit behind his desk, his brow furrowed as he traced the tip of his finger along his lower lip. He needed to do something about Miss Granger, but he had no idea what. He needed to do something about Draco, Lucius and Narcissa, too. He doubted the Dark Lord would be merciful if he ever suspected Severus had turned traitor. The idea of seeing them suffer for his sake didn't sit well.

A knock intruded on his thoughts a short time later and Severus looked up, his eyes narrowed at the idea that a student dared come to call on him when they all ought to be making for the station down in Hogsmeade.

"Enter," he growled, hoping whoever it was might hear his tone and think better of their decision to bother him.

When the door was pushed open, Severus supposed he should have seen it coming the minute she uttered her little comment about trouble being fun.

"Miss Granger?" he said, eyeing her from across his desk as she walked confidently into the room, not at all concerned that he might tell her to go away.

"Good morning, sir," she greeted him, as though she hadn't barrelled into him in the Great Hall. Severus watched her with annoyance as she closed the door firmly behind her and warded it before crossing the room and helping herself to the chair in front of his desk, uninvited.

"What do you want, Granger?" he asked in frustration when she crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, regarding him quietly.

"We never finished our discussion the other day," she said softly. "And you've been avoiding me since then."

"I don't believe either of us actually planned on discussing anything further, Miss Granger," he drawled, narrowing his eyes on her.

Her lips twitched into a quick grin and she nodded her head, conceding the point.

"I chose both," she said, launching into the topic as though there hadn't been more than two weeks between then and now; as though they'd never been interrupted. "So, I wondered what your theory might be about that, sir, and I wondered if you still believe Dolohov's curse had anything to do with it."

Severus leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and eyeing her in silence, waiting for her to grow uncomfortable. She didn't fidget beneath his gaze the way most of his students were prone to doing. She simply waited. Severus hated her a little bit more for that.

"Has your patronus always been a fox?" He asked finally, conceding that she was determined to discuss it and not going to be intimidated into just leaving well enough alone.

She shook her head. "It was an otter last year. And I know that Tonks had her patronus change when she fell for Remus, but I haven't fallen in love with anyone, so I don't believe that's the cause for the change. Do you know of any other reasons a patronus changes shape, sir?"

Severus mulled it over, taking another deliberately slow sip from his tea cup as he regarded her, intrigued that she wasn't at all nervous or uncomfortable beneath his gaze. She often grew to be, during classes when he eyed her projects critically, but it seemed that while she clearly craved academic approval, she wasn't looking for his approval outside the classroom. Severus wondered if it was born of confidence or arrogance.

"Despite popular and thick-headed myths, a patronus does not only change shape when two dunderheaded fools make the mistake of developing feelings for one another, Miss Granger. That change, and any change of shape a patronus takes, is born of an alteration to the personality of the witch or wizard. Anything that affects the core magic of the wielder by altering who they are fundamentally can cause such change. While falling in love does affect the soul, changes such as that of Miss Tonks - wherein the shape of hers changed to reflect the shape of Lupin's - are more often than not born of obsession, rather than healthy and reciprocated love. Often when two people are evenly matched - as close to being soulmates as any educated person might allow without sounding ridiculous - their patroni will form the male and female counterpart for one another. Miss Tonks, however, bears the same male counterpart wolf patronus as Lupin, displaying obsession. However, as you believe you have not fallen in love like some hapless fool, any other alteration to who you are as a witch can cause the change. Did you lose your virginity sometime between the initial otter shape and now?"

She didn't even have the decency to blush and Severus clenched his fist as she shook her head.

"No. I lost my virginity in the summer after fourth year but didn't cast a patronus until midway through fifth."

"You have witnessed death since then. Black's expiration may have affected your core in the same way that seeing death allows one to see Thestrals," Severus said.

Again, Miss Granger shook her head.

"I'd cast my patronus since then," she told him. "It was still an otter over the summer. The change is recent."

"Suggesting, then, that your survival of Dolohov's curse is also not the cause for the change. Do you remember precisely when you last cast a patronus before the change?"

"Not since the summer. So, it has to have been something I did since September," she sighed, frowning as though trying to recall anything new she might've experienced since the commencement of the school year. "The only unusual thing I did this year was shag you, Severus. Your patronus isn't a fox, is it?"

Severus shook his head. "No, it is not. Though your interaction with me might cause such a change. I am a Dark wizard, after all, and the fusion of our magics might have altered something in you enough to change your patronus shape. A fox and an otter are somewhat similar."

"One is just a bit more cunning and less playful than the other."

"Do you consider yourself to be more cunning than playful of late, Miss Granger?" Severus drawled, unable to keep his eyes on her face when she shifted slightly in her seat.

"Perhaps," she murmured, frowning.

"Weasley's patronus," Severus said, frowning in return. "What is it?"

"A Jack Russell terrier," she told him. "Harry's is a stag."

"And Mr Krum's" Severus asked.

She blinked, her frown deepening. "A wolf, I think."

"Not a fox?" He confirmed.

"Mine hasn't changed to reflect Viktor's," she rolled her eyes. "How did you know about he and I, anyway?"

"One need only read the newspaper to discover the nifflers in your bank vault, Miss Granger," he smirked.

"Not all of them," she said, looking at him pointedly and Severus might've laughed were he more prone to such things.

"Not yet, anyway," he muttered darkly, dreading the day when it would undoubtedly come to light that he'd been fucking one of his students.

"Yes, well," she sniffed, sighing. "Wait… I came of age since the summer. Would turning seventeen be a cause for a big enough change to my core that it would change my patronus?"

Severus had never considered it. Most wizards never actually managed to perfect the Patronus Charm enough to have cast a corporeal patronus before the age of seventeen.

"It's as good an explanation as any," he said after a long pause.

"And the magic?" she asked quietly. "Do you have a theory about the fact that I was unable to choose between the Light and Dark magic in the jars, sir?"

Here, Severus's mouth twisted into a mean little smile.

"Actually, I do," he said, watching the way her expression grew wary when she saw how he was looking at her. "You were unable to figure out which was Dark and which was Light because both spells were neutral, Miss Granger. They felt different when you touched each one because my intent whilst unleashing the magic was of a Lighter or Darker mindset, but it was the same spell inside both jars; one that can be used for Light, or for Dark, depending on the will of the caster."

"Which spell was it?" she asked, frowning.

"A Blood Warming charm," Severus said. "Used in healing magic to regulate body temperature and calm the infirmed; or, alternatively, used by Dark wizards to boil the blood of a victim until their brain melts and their flesh sloughs off. You were unable to tell them apart because I didn't put enough good or wicked intent into either one to allow you to feel the difference."

She looked thunderstruck, her eyes widening and her mouth opening in outrage. Severus began to laugh.

"You!" she spluttered. "You let me think for weeks that I was turning into some…some… terrible person who couldn't even distinguish between good and bad? You avoided me, even when I attempted to speak to you about it and you let me think I…"

Severus laughed harder, entirely amused by how positively furious she looked. Her curls crackled with purple light, her magic sparking as her temper flared and when she shot to her feet, he almost choked on his own amusement.

"Stop laughing!" she snapped, slapping her hand down on his desk and glaring at him over it. "How could you? I've been worried sick that I must've somehow corrupted my moral compass and you just…"

She stomped her foot, flying into an even more glorious rage and Severus watched the magic in her curls, making her hair begin to frizz out of control. Her eyes glittered with fury as she glared at him.

"I should hex you," she snarled, and Severus laughed even harder at the very idea until he felt certain tears might begin to stream down his face in hilarity if he didn't get a grip.

She stomped around his desk angrily, wrenching his chair around to make him face her with a surprising amount of strength for so slight a witch and Severus looked up at her, still laughing, as she put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot, apparently thinking about how to most effectively punish him.

"How could you?" she demanded again as his laughter faded to a chuckle.

"It's hardly my fault that your friend was unable to control himself and burst into my office to interrupt before I could explain, Miss Granger," he drawled, leaning back in his chair and regarding her, just daring her to throw a hex at him like she so obviously wanted to.

"And you didn't think that maybe you should've attempted to explain to me later?" she hissed. "You could've kept me back after class or spoken to me about it during one of my detentions rather than pawning me off on Madam Pince in the library. You could've summoned me to your office at any time and put me out of my misery, and you didn't!"

Severus raised one eyebrow at her, smirking just a little bit.

"You'd have liked that, wouldn't you, Granger?" he asked, loathing that, up close, he could smell the sweet vanilla scent of her hair and found his fingers itching to bury in her wild curls.

She narrowed her eyes on him, apparently not in the mood to be taunted over whether she wanted to fuck him again or not.

"I'd have liked to be put out of my misery," she said.

"Wouldn't we all?" he replied quietly, watching as some of the fire drained out of her until she let her hands fall back to rest limply as her sides, standing close enough to touch him, but not daring.

"I'm not morphing into some Dark witch who can't tell right from wrong?" she asked softly after a pregnant pause.

"Who can say?" he asked. "That you are concerned about it suggests that you can still distinguish right and wrong, but also suggests that you feel seduced by the wrong, just the same. Morally sound people tend not to question if they're being seduced by the Dark."

"Are you calling me morally corrupt?" She frowned.

Severus didn't answer. Instead he slowly reached a hand toward her, watching her quiver with anticipation until he touched her. When he pressed his hand to the middle of her chest, palm flat, she stepped closer and Severus dug his magic against hers. She gasped at the sensation, but Severus pressed forward, digging into her magic in the same manner he could dig into her mind, seeking answers. Like a fabric he was examining for pulled threads or holes, he scanned over the very magic within her that made her Hermione Granger, witch.

She closed her eyes, tipping her head back and mewling softly at the sweet sensation that almost bordered on pain as he examined every inch of her magical core. Unlike what had happened when they'd fused their magic, or what occurred when he brushed his magic along the length of hers, this felt much more intrusive but no less pleasurable. Severus ignored his rapidly swelling cock, digging at her harder, searching for the sparkles of darkness that infected his own core.

By the time he pulled back she was standing between his knees and she had her hands tangled in his dark hair. She was breathing heavily, and her face was alight with lust despite her tightly closed eyes.

"What did you just do?" She whispered, scraping her nails against his scalp in a way that almost made Severus want to purr like a contented housecat.

"Examined the fabric of your magic for Darkness," he said huskily, his hand on the middle of her chest sliding over her ribs as he reached the other to grip her hip, not at all thinking clearly as he pulled her down into his lap.

She straddled him readily, one of the few unafraid to touch him when so many were.

"And?" She asked, awaiting his findings.

"You are not infected with the Darkness, yet," Severus murmured, nuzzling his nose along her jaw before leaning in to kiss her neck.

"Yet? You think I will be?" She asked, tipping her head to give him better access.

"If I have anything to say about it," Severus whispered before latching onto her neck and suckling her delectable flesh as she ground herself against him.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Hermione moaned, pressing further into his arms and rubbing herself needily on him. She could feel that he wanted it as much as she did, and she found her hands trailing to the front of his robes, her fingers toying with the buttons.

"If you undo any more of those, you'll miss the train home, Miss Granger," he said when she'd unbuttoned the first ten of the many buttons that adorned his robes, barely managing to do more than expose his collarbones, which she lavished with nips and soft, tantalizing kisses.

"Might be worth it," Hermione muttered, enjoying the way he tipped his head when she latched onto the sweet spot below his ear.

"Perhaps," he agreed, his voice husky. "At least until we had to explain to Albus and Minerva just what you were doing, instead."

Hermione nipped him again, rolling her hips and enjoying the way his hands tightened on her hips.

She didn't want to go. She loved her parents and wanted to see them, but the sensations pulsing through her made her think she'd be better off staying at Hogwarts where she could shag her Potions professor senseless all Christmas, instead.

A chime of the school bells sounded in the distance, warning students to make their way to Hogsmeade if they wished to take the train home and Hermione sighed, leaning into Snape and resting her forehead against the top of his shoulder.

"Off you go," he said quietly, his hands trailing to her bottom and giving a surprisingly gentle squeeze. "Before Potter or my colleagues come looking for you."

Hermione nodded, pulling back and climbing out of his lap reluctantly. When she was on her feet, Snape rose too, towering over her and wrapping himself in his teacherly persona once more. A flick of his wand righted the buttons she'd opened, and Hermione sighed softly when she met his unfathomable gaze, disappointment obvious in her eyes.

"Are you coming to Molly's Christmas lunch for the Order?" she asked as she trailed back around his desk, needing to be on her way.

"No," he scoffed.

Hermione laughed just a little, unsurprised. He was hardly made to feel welcome with the Order most of the time. Well, ever, she supposed. The rest of the Order hardly liked him, and she got the feeling that not many of his colleagues liked him, either.

"What will you do for Christmas, then?" She asked. "Do you have plans? You can't spend the holidays alone…"

His mouth twisted like he didn't know if he wanted to smile or sneer.

"I assure you I can, Miss Granger. I have before. Many times," he said. "However, this holiday will not be spent moping in my quarters. The Dark Lord is extremely fond of the Yuletide season and likes to ensure that we misfits all have somewhere to go."

"You don't look pleased about it."

He chuckled darkly. "A Death Eater Christmas is something I wouldn't wish upon anyone, Miss Granger. But there will, undoubtedly, be many a victim whose holiday will be ruined forevermore. At least if they survive. Most don't."

He shrugged.

"You could spend it with us sane people, instead?" She suggested softly, her heart clenching for him that his position as the Order's spy meant he would probably be forced into the company of sociopaths and psychopaths, and might have to witness or participate in the torture of innocents.

He simply shook his head, dismissing her suggestion for the folly it undoubtedly was. For Severus Snape, being forced into the company of cheerful and suspicious people like Harry and the Weasleys would likely be just as unbearable, if not even more wretched, than being in the company of Lord Voldemort and his minions. He nodded at the door when Hermione did her level best to conceal her disappointment that he wasn't even going to consider the company of people she happened to adore, silently telling her to be on her way as the second chime of the bells indicated that stragglers better hurry.

"Maybe I'll see you?" she asked when she reached the door, looking back even as she turned the door handle.

"For your sake, Miss Granger, I sincerely hope not," he said quietly, eyeing her like she was something complex he didn't quite understand just yet.

"Happy Christmas, Severus," she said softly, smiling in farewell and knowing better than to make an arse of herself by suggesting anything further or complicating something that shouldn't be happening at all. He didn't return the sentiment, but he nodded a second time before she hurried out the door, needing to run if she was going to make the train on time.

She raced up out of the dungeons and was just crossing the Entrance Hall when she barrelled right into someone standing in the middle of the room.

"Ooomph!" The person - a boy, by the feel of him - grunted.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione blurted, trying to right herself. "I'm going to miss the train if I don't hurry and I didn't even see you standing there. Are you alright? "

"Good luck hurrying out from under this cursed mistletoe without my help, Granger," the infuriatingly familiar drawl of Draco Malfoy filled her ears just as she tried to hurry around the boy she'd barrelled into, only to find her feet stuck to the floor.

"Malfoy?" She asked, hissing as she twisted to look up above their heads where a particularly aggressive looking sprig of mistletoe had sprouted. "Oh, for Merlin's sake! Really?"

"Really," Malfoy drawled. "I've been stuck here for almost ten minutes. Everyone else is gone."

Hermione eyed him in trepidation, not at all liking what she suspected was about to happen.

"You realise we'll both miss the train if we don't deactivate the charm, right?" she sighed.

"I'm aware," he nodded.

"My friends would have kittens if they saw this," she muttered.

"Mine would commit murder," he replied.

"No one ever finds out, then?" She asked briskly.

He nodded sharply, eyeing her and obviously waiting for her to make the first move. The reluctance and disgust on his face was obvious and Hermione didn't doubt that her expression mirrored his at the very thought of having to kiss him to be free of the wretched little plant. Huffing, Hermione fisted the front of his robes boldly, pulling him down as she stretched up on her toes until she could reach his lips. He resisted, obviously not thrilled at the idea of snogging a mudblood and displeased by the rough treatment she was giving his shirt. He'd probably consider it to be soiled beyond saving when she let him go. Hermione pressed her lips to his quickly, brushing her closed lips against his, hoping the charm would break and set them free. When she pulled back a moment later, they were still stuck, and Malfoy wiped at his mouth in disgust before glaring at the mistletoe hatefully.

"Pretty sure it's going to require proper snogging if we want to be set loose. Which, I do. If I miss the train, Harry and Ron will assume I've been murdered," Hermione grumbled.

"Hang around in my vicinity long enough, and you might be," Draco said quietly, though he looked more like he was trying to warn her away, rather than like he was attempting to threaten her. She frowned at him, opening her mouth intent on saying something to him but before she could utter another sound, he struck.

She squeaked in surprise when he nodded again before his hands closed over her shoulders, jerking her close as his lips crashed down on hers. He snogged her hard, his tongue sweeping between her parted lips, bringing the taste of tea and Calming Draught with it. She kissed him back as well as she could manage amid her surprise and her disgust, frowning when there was no scatter of mistletoe over her immediately. He nipped her bottom lip before exploring her mouth more fully and Hermione kept her eyes tightly closed, kissing him back and hating that her mind flashed with longing that Snape would snog her like Malfoy currently was.

When, finally, the enchantment broke, a rain of leaves and berries scattered over the pair of them, and they broke apart both panting and both wiping at their mouths as though burned by the taste of one another.

" _What_  is the meaning of this?" A familiar cold voice asked, and Hermione's eyes widened in horror while Malfoy closed his, looking like he feared his death was imminent.

Turning to Severus, recognising his voice without even needing to look, Hermione stammered at him, her cheeks turning scarlet.

"Mistletoe," she said, picking a few scattered twigs from her hair and holding them out as though they might offer some defence.

His dark eyes flicked to the twigs and berries that must surely still be stuck in her nest of curls, before resting on her face once more. His face was devoid of any expression. Yet, for some reason Hermione had the strangest feelings that he was angry, or perhaps even hurt, that she'd snogged Malfoy for her freedom.

"How convenient for you both," he hissed quietly. "Get out of my sight before you miss the train. And don't be stopping along the way to tongue-bath each other."

Hermione gagged just a little, but she didn't dare argue, reminded that she needed to run if she was going to make it to the train before it pulled out of the station.

"Oh, bugger," she said, spinning on her heels and racing for the door.

The steps were slippery, and she almost lost her balance when she skidded on them, landing awkwardly on her ankle but running hard for the road down to the village where the bright red Hogwarts Express was whistling and preparing to depart. She ran full pelt, her hair streaming, the chilly and snow-filled air making it hard to breath and hard to see. The path was treacherous, but Hermione ran, just the same.

When she skidded through the gates, the enchantments that protected the castle washed over her and she shook herself, wondering why she'd never felt them before. The train was still whistling and she could hear the sound of footfalls pounding along in her wake. Twisting her head, she darted a glance over her shoulder, spying Malfoy running behind her, obviously intent on making it to the train on time, too.

She didn't spy the hooded figure in the dark cloak that suddenly stepped from behind one of the pillars of Hogsmeade Station and right into her path until it was too late. Barrelling right into someone, Hermione screamed in surprise even as unforgiving arms clamped around her slim frame and a terrible twist behind her navel dragged her through space and time as she was apparated away.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

Draco Malfoy  _almost_  stumbled in shock when Antonin Dolohov leapt out from behind a pillar like some comic villain from a children's tale. He snatched hold of Granger so quickly that had Draco not been focusing quite so hard on the back of the witch's curly-haired head, he'd have missed her abduction completely. Only months spent staring at his fellow Death Eaters and learning their faces, their names, and their shapes so intimately allowed him to even identify the man.

A pit opened in his stomach and he raced aboard the train, jumping from the platform to the train and colliding heavily with the railing. It dug into his stomach, but the wind had already been knocked out of him in his shock over Granger's kidnapping and Draco glanced back at the platform as the train pulled out.

This was bad.

He might not like the jumped up little mudblood, but he knew how it was going to look when people learned he'd been the last to board the train and the last to see her before she disappeared. He'd even been caught snogging her, for Merlin's sake. He'd be questioned at length and vilified by the likes of Potter and his lackeys. Shoving away from the railing, Draco felt his feet carry him the length of the train without really thinking about the consequences of his actions. He peered into each compartment, moving on until he reached the compartment where Potter and Weasley were worriedly beginning to search for their friend.

Hurrying inside, his wand drawn, Draco closed the compartment door quickly and lowered the blind to keep anyone from seeing him.

"Malfoy?" Potter asked warily, his eyes narrowed and his own wand in his hand.

"Granger's been kidnapped," Draco blurted without thinking. "Just now. On the platform. She was running for the train and Dolohov grabbed her."

"What?" Potter snarled, leaping to his feet and squaring off against him, his eyes narrowed hatefully.

"You heard me, Potter," Draco hissed. "She's been snatched. I don't know what you want to do to get your little Order minions on top of trying to save her, but I guarantee that if you wait the day-long trip it'll take to get back to London before trying to save her, she'll be dead before you can track her down."

"What did you do to her?" Potter snarled.

"Nothing," Draco said. "I was running for the train, too, and the minute she reached the platform Dolohov jumped out and grabbed her. I barely made it onto the train. Do what you want with the information, but she's gone."

He made to back out of the compartment, but Potter lunged for him before he could even open the door, his wand digging into Draco's throat.

"You lured her, didn't you?" he accused, his green eyes filled with hatred. "She's never been late enough to miss the train. You did something. Don't think for a second that we don't know you're a Death Eater. You probably helped your buddy Dolohov, trapping Hermione somewhere for him to find.  _You_  did something to make her late, just like you did something to Katie that day in Hogsmeade."

Draco narrowed his eyes in return, digging his wand into Potter's ribs aggressively and trying to force him back even though Weasley, Weasley, and Longbottom were all on their feet, too. They all looked ready to rip him apart with their bare hands if wands failed and Draco cursed silently to himself that this was what he got for trying to be a decent person, for a change.

"If I wanted to hurt your little mudblood, Potter," he drawled coldly. "I wouldn't let Dolohov do the dirty work. See, he's not really what anyone might call merciful. Believe me, wherever she is, she's not just in pain right now. She's in  _agony._  You've felt the Cruciatus curse under the Dark Lord's wand, yeah? Amplify that pain by a hundred and you'll be  _close_  to the type of pain that Dolohov likes to inflict on people. I wouldn't wish  _that_  kind of fate on anyone, Potter. Not even a jumped-up know-it-all mudblood."

"If they hurt a single hair on her head, I'm going to take you apart, Malfoy," Potter snarled. "I don't care what you say; you had  _something_  to do with him taking her! You better tell us where he'd take her, or I'm going to find out just how much you have to mean the Killing curse when you utter it."

Draco paled, his heart racing with fear inside his chest when he saw the same gleam in Potter's eyes that he'd seen in the eyes of the Dark Lord before he'd killed Professor Burbage.

"The Manor," Draco whispered. "If he kidnapped her on the Dark Lord's orders, she'll have been taken to Malfoy Manor. If he acted independently… you'll never find her. The Russian has hidey-holes all over the world."

Draco bit his lip on a groan when the bastard sucker punched him, shoving him hard against the door before twisting away and casting his patronus. Weasley and his sister were already casting theirs, putting messages into the stupid glowing white shapes. Longbottom was trying to cast his, too, and Lovegood was attempting to untangle her wand from her hair. Shaking his head and wiping at the blood that trickled from his nose, Draco let himself out of the compartment and hurried off to find his friends, terrified by the thought that by the time he got home, the girl he'd just snogged might be dead on his dining room table.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

"PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE! HERMIONE'S BEEN KIDNAPPED! DOLOHOV TOOK HER ON THE PLATFORM!"

Five swirling patronuses exploded into the staff room where Albus Dumbledore was conducting an intimate Order meeting, all carrying the same message. Harry's stag was the loudest and brightest, though a Jack Russell terrier, a jack-rabbit, a mare, and a bear all galloped about the stag bearing the same chilling news.

"Albus!" Minerva gasped, jumping to her feet in horror.

"No!" hissed Filius.

"It can't be true," said Horace.

Albus closed his eyes in horror. He'd felt something niggling at the wards that protected the grounds all morning, and had suspected that the Death Eaters might try to snatch Harry from the Platform. He'd even put Hagrid and some of the other teachers in charge of overseeing the train's departure. Nymphadora and Remus were both supposed to have been nearby, and Bill was stationed on the train to protect the children.

When he opened his eyes, he immediately sought out Severus – who had stalked into the staff room a scant fifteen minutes ago in the foulest mood Albus had seen him in for weeks. Severus's brow was furrowed as though he was surprised by the news and Albus Dumbledore knew that didn't bode well.

"We have to save her," Minerva insisted. "The last time Dolohov was anywhere near her, he almost killed the poor girl."

They were panicking and Albus help up his hand.

"Severus," he said quietly when they all fell silently.

"I was not made aware of any plans to kidnap Potter or his friends, Albus," Severus said quietly. "Dolohov may be acting alone. He has harboured a grudge for the girl since she survived his curse in June."

"He will torture her?" Albus asked softly, frowning.

"Unless he is acting on the orders of the Dark Lord and has been instructed not to, yes," Severus said, his lips pinching.

"Rescue her, Severus," Minerva pleaded. "For the love of Merlin, rescue her. The terrible things they will do to a muggle-born girl like Miss Granger are beyond imagining."

Severus looked over at Albus, raising one eyebrow and awaiting the order to be sent after her.

"Do not do anything to compromise your position in Tom's esteem, Severus," Albus said softly. "But if you are able to save her without giving yourself away as disloyal to Tom, please do so."

Severus nodded sharply, rising to his feet and sweeping from the staff room with a billow of dark robes.

"Minerva, please go to Headquarters. Alert the Weasley's and the other members of the Order. Filius, send word to Bill aboard the train. Have him portkey Harry and the others directly to Headquarters. We cannot risk Tom and his minions snatching them from the train or storming Kings Cross station when they reach London. Horace, please accompany me to Hogsmeade to locate Hagrid, Remus and Nymphadora. I am concerned by what might've become of them that this has happened."

He strode for the door, intent on getting to the bottom of all this, and trying to ignore the niggling thought in his mind that whatever Tom had planned for young Miss Granger, it was  _not_  what they were all fearing.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

"Severus?" Lucius asked, smiling in greeting when Severus apparated to Malfoy Manor.

"Is she here?" he asked of the blond wizard briskly.

"Who? Cissy?" Lucius frowned.

"Granger. Potter's mudblood. She was snatched from the station as the students were boarding the train," Severus said tightly.

Lucius raised his eyebrows.

"What would the Dark Lord want with a mudblood?" Lucius frowned. "Merlin, you don't think  _she_  was the guest the Dark Lord was referring to, do you?"

Severus stopped mid-stride, faltering as he turned his head sharply to look at Lucius.

"Fuck," he breathed.

Lucius eyed him.

"You think he wants  _her_  for whatever he has planned regarding the ritual to make you Lord of Selwyn Hall?" Lucius asked, frowning. "Why would he…"

Severus kept walking, stalking deeper into the Manor and making a beeline for Lucius's office and the cabinet where he kept his best whiskey.

"Oh, Severus. No," Lucius said, trailing after him and sounding positively disgusted. "She's a mudblood… but then, that never bothered you, did it? Salazar's rod, Severus! She's the same age as Draco!"

"Lucius, be quiet," Severus said, taking up the whiskey decanter and removing the stopper before lifting it to his lips and gulping down the contents.

"Is she even of age?" Lucius sneered, ignoring the directive.

"She turned seventeen at the beginning of the school year," Severus grunted when the decanter was empty, wiping at him mouth and frowning as he threw himself down in Lucius's office chair.

"How long have you been fucking her?" Lucius asked nosily. "And how did the Dark Lord find out?"

"Dolohov's trick, probably," Severus muttered. "He's the one who snatched her."

"How long, Severus?" Lucius asked.

"Only a few times," he sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as his head began to throb with rage. "She surprised me when I returned after being punished at Greyback's claws a few weeks ago."

"And you just shagged her?" Lucius frowned. "I know you lose some of yourself to the Occumency, but she's still your student, Severus. And a mudblood. And Potter's closest female friend. And entirely too clever for her own good. As though she didn't already have a huge target painted on her back?"

Severus opened his eyes to glare at his closest friend.

"You're just sore because I fucked you last night even though I've been fucking her," he snarled.

Lucius curled his lip. "Remind me to bathe in bleach this evening," he sneered. "What could you possibly see in her, Severus? She's got that wretched hair and those terrible teeth."

"You imagine she means more tha a warm, tight hole to fuck?" Severus sneered in return. "The Dark Lord has obviously seen the list of those I've shagged and spotted a perfect opportunity to torment Potter by tying his best female friend to the boy's least favourite teacher."

"You know what the ritual demands, don't you?" Lucius asked him quietly. "You understand what she will become?"

Severus gritted his teeth, looking away even as he nodded sharply.

"Perhaps he means to kill her off, afterward. Someone disposable to legitimatise your Lordship in the Old Magic, to then be cast aside once it is done?" Lucius suggested.

Severus's gut was churning with fear like he hadn't known in many long years. Everyone was going to know. Everyone. They would ask why the Dark Lord would choose  _her_  for such a task. They would want to know what had pushed him to agree, and what might make her comply. They would all find out that he'd fucked one of his students.

Worse, they were going to subject her to the Death Eater hospitality at Christmastime. They would all sneer over her blood status and the Dark Lord would raid her mind. If there was anyone he didn't want in the hands of the Dark Lord for the knowledge locked away inside her mind, it was Granger. The girl knew everything. She knew he was a traitor to the cause. She knew about the Horcruxes. She knew intimate secrets about Potter, his hopes and his fears, and his boring but potentially exploitable habits. She knew the location of Headquarters and any number of other things that could devastate the resistance the Order had been putting up in the face of the Dark Lord's rise.

They would torture her, he realised numbly. They would torture her and toy with her like cats with mice, batting and prodding and nipping just to watch her scurry about, trying to get free. Severus felt sick. This was all his fault. He never should have fucked her. If he'd kept his head and been sensible, he'd have sent her on her way that evening in his classroom rather than fucking her. She'd be a witness to the Dark Lord's punishment of him and nothing more. She wouldn't be being held hostage by the likes of Dolohov. She wouldn't be subjected to the foul men and women that made up the ranks of the Dark Lord's forces.

She wouldn't be being forced into anything with him. And Severus had a terrible, sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach that the Dark Lord was going to make sure it was a very public ritual as he forced the witch to bind herself to him, making him Lord of Selwyn Hall. He'd had time to prepare for the horror that would ensue, and despite the frequent mistrust among the brethren, he would essentially be surrounded by friends. Men and women who'd seen him fuck, and heard him curse, and watched him murder. These were his people – many whom he'd grown through Hogwarts with. They were the people he'd associated with almost exclusively before he'd taken the position as a teacher at the school. They were the people who'd egged him on and encouraged him when he broke the rules, and later, the law. They were the ones beside him through thick and thin and the ones who knew where many of his bodies were buried.

Some of them, like Lucius, knew that he was a man who'd committed patricide at the age of fifteen. Some of them knew he'd raped. Some knew he'd butchered. Burned. Tortured. Ravaged. Reeved. They might all be cruel and wicked in Slytherin, Severus thought grimly, but there could be no denying the Sorting Hat's song about finding  _true friends_  in Slytherin. They had seen him naked. Seen him fuck. Seen him cry out in agony when he was tortured for his misdeeds when he displeased the Dark Lord.

Some, like Narcissa, had patched him up when he was too broken to drag himself home and do it himself. They'd seen him bleed. Lucius had seen him cry. They were his friends, and Severus couldn't bear the thought of so pure a witch as Hermione Granger – whose magic and mind he might've been plotting to corrupt – being subjected to the likes of such friends. Merlin, he'd thought about doing terrible things to her, but there would be no going back from this.

She would never forgive him. Her last hours might be spent in inscrutable agony, publicly humiliated and utterly alone. And she  _was_  alone. He couldn't help her. The Dark Lord would not permit him to interfere with his apparently carefully laid plans for the girl – not even for the sake of maintaining his place as an Order spy. He could already hear the argument in his head – the story he'd be told to tell. That there had been no way to save her. That he hadn't arrived in time to protect her from what she would endure. That he, himself, would've been killed if he didn't cooperate and revel in her humiliation, as the Dark Lord intended.

Severus suspected that once the ritual was complete and she was tied to him, the Dark Lord would let her go. It would wound Potter so much more to lose trust in his friend and to pit him against her when she was little more than a Death Eater's whore, than it would to outright kill her. She would be returned to the Order like a tarnished and broken toy whose usefulness has been spent in their eyes. She would be damaged, but alive. They would burn with the urge for revenge over whatever she endured, but not so much as they would, were they left to avenge her death. They would tiptoe around her and she would isolate herself further because she would  _feel_  tainted under their worried gazes.

He knew the little witch enough to know that for all her apparent intrigue with the Dark, she was a morally  _good_  person. She defended House Elf rights, and championed Hippogriffs, and coddled giants and werewolves. She was also a martyr, not afraid to sacrifice something valuable to her if it might protect those she cared about. She would be entirely too easy to manipulate, and she would play right into the Dark Lord's plans. After all, she'd already proven that she was a survivor and a strong witch. She'd shown her Gyrffindor colours a good many times. She wouldn't be meek in the face of their torment, and that would almost be worse than simply curling up until they all went away. She would fight back. And it would probably spell her doom.

Severus breathed out slowly, opening his eyes and meeting Lucius's gaze. The blond wizard was eyeing him curiously, obviously baffled by the idea that he'd willingly fucked another mudblood, and concerned about what it would all mean for Severus that she'd been kidnapped.

"He won't kill her," Severus said quietly. "So quick an end would be a waste of the potential to strike at Potter's weak underbelly. His love for the girl will ensure that the Dark Lord will send her home to him broken and fractured, a shell of the witch she has been until now."

Lucius nodded thoughtfully, fetching a second bottle of whiskey from the cupboard across the office and pouring them both a glass.

"Won't Dumbledore be put out with you for returning Potter's little bitch to him, tarnished?" Lucius asked, sipping his whiskey slowly while Severus struggled to bottle the rage fizzing inside his skull as it hadn't since Lily had fallen for James Potter's charms.

"When he knows that saving her and returning her unscathed would risk my position in the Dark Lord's ranks and lose him his little spy?" Severus sneered. "No. Albus Dumbledore would willingly sacrifice every one of Potter's friends to the Dark if it meant keeping him in the loop and keeping Potter alive long enough to do his duty. He will be displeased to learn I've been fucking her and corrupting her under his nose. But he will use it as a tool, attempting to turn her spy, as well. He will use her connection to me to drive a wedge between her and Potter, driving her toward the ranks for comfort, all while offering her titbits of forgiveness and praise and hope. He will attempt to wield her as he believes he can wield me."

"You believe he will fail? The girl will not cooperate?" Lucius asked, raising his eyebrows.

Severus smirked. He loathed that even there, with his closest friend, he had to play the double agent and hide his true intentions from the world.

"She only fucks me when I'm the Death Eater," he drawled smugly. "Miss Granger  _likes_  to play in the Dark. When I am who I pretend to be amid the Order and my colleagues at the school, she has nothing but fear and snide scorn where I am concerned. But when I'm myself, as I am whilst here with you? The witch positively creams for my cock."

Lucius laughed.

"It would not be so very hard to corrupt her to the Dark," Severus said, sipping his whiskey liberally. "She is curious by nature, and she is already being seduced by the Darkness. In the right hands, cut off from her do-good friends and left in the clutches of the Dark Lord's forces? Allowed and even encouraged to pursue a knowledge of the Dark? The girl will be more glorious than even Bella before I am through."

Lucius was smirking wickedly, looking positively alight with the idea as Severus hadn't seen him look in a long time. A thrill washed through him, the darkness within flickering to life in his blood and pulsing through his magic, making him burn with the urge to do those wicked things he so often resisted. As he tipped his glass up, downing the contents of his glass before smirking cruelly in return, Severus loathed himself just a little that he wasn't entirely sure if he was just playing his role, or if he really would corrupt her to the core.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Hermione blinked her eyes open groggily, trying to shake off the vestiges of sleep. She frowned at the sight of damp stone walls, wondering for a moment if she'd fallen asleep in Potions class. Her neck was twinging painfully, and she felt a little muzzy as she tried to make sense of her surroundings and attempted to slowly push herself into a sitting position.

She was cold, she realised, but when she looked down at herself she was dressed warmly in her cloak. Sitting up and rubbing her head – which was throbbing painfully at the back as though she'd hit with something – Hermione realised she was sitting in a dungeon. Worse, a jail cell. There were bars making up one entire wall of the confined space where she'd awoken and Hermione's eyes widened in horror. He hands dove for her pockets, searching in vain for the wand she'd apparently been relieved of and Hermione cursed.

The memory of slamming into someone as she been running for the train resurfaced and Hermione paled, realising that whoever she'd run into had kidnapped her. She'd been snatched right off the platform and now she was being held in some dank dungeon, Merlin only knew where, and she was without any weapons. Her heart began to race as the panic set in.

"Bugger," she cursed, scrambling to her feet and hurrying for the door. She could feel the hum of wards designed to keep her in and Hermione narrowed her eyes, flicking her wrist the way she always did when using her wand to disable Snape's wards.

She smirked when they dropped, wandless magic coming to her aid and undoing the wards with surprising ease. She twisted the handle, opening the door to her cell and peeking into the corridor beyond cautiously. No one stopped her as she made a break for it and Hermione ran down the length of the corridor, ignoring the dizziness threatening to consume her. She found a staircase at the end of the corridor and she took it to the next floor, hoping there would be some way to escape beyond it. All she had to do was find an unguarded fireplace that was connected to the Floor network and she'd be free. Her panic bag – stored and concealed in the pocket of her robes for just such emergencies as being without a wand and kidnapped - contained a small packet of Floo Powder and Hermione knew she could get free just as long as no one spotted her.

When she reached the top of the stairs she was met with what appeared to be some kind of drawing room or parlour and Hermione skidded to a halt as she spied what awaited her.

Glowing red eyes and terrible, translucent skin were unnerving enough without the serpentine slits in the place of a proper nose. The pleased and indulgent smile Lord Voldemort wore made her think the wards had been purposely weak in order for just such an escape attempt. He was alone, which surprised her, sitting in a wing-backed chair by the fireplace. He had his fingers interlocked before him, terrible bony white digits that made her think of skeletons rather than of flesh and blood. He regarded her quietly, the chair facing toward the top of the stairs.

He'd obviously been expecting her. Hermione eyed him in utter horror, having never been so repulsed by the sight of a person in all her life. Her mouth opened and closed in revulsion and Hermione blinked stupidly, trying to think of something –  _anything_  – to say that might be appropriate and more articulate than gagging. His smile grew as he slowly inclined his head in greeting and leaned forward just a little as he spoke.

"Good Evening, Hermione Granger."


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

He greeted her politely and spoke calmly, all whilst looking wickedly amused rather than offended by her obvious disgust. Hermione shuddered in utter horror. His voice, which she'd expected to be high and cold, and utterly scathing, was actually quite pleasant and even warm. She recalled with sudden clarity that she'd once read, when researching the First War, that Lord Voldemort had initially gained a following because he began his campaign in a vein that appealed to oppressed and disgruntled magic-users who were in the chokehold of laws designed to protect muggles more than it did wizards.

She had also read that prior to him revealing his more sinister viewpoints, he was well known for being handsome, charismatic, and well-spoken. The looks had obviously been ruined, but it seemed he was no less charismatic when he fixated on a person and despite her disgust, Hermione experienced sudden understanding as to how so many people had fallen for his plots.

He might be terribly wicked, and might very well be intending her no small amount of harm, but she found that even simply standing in his presence and having yet to complete the exchange of greetings, he was intriguing to say the least.

"Lord Voldemort, I presume?" she managed after clearing her throat and glancing around quickly, hoping to find some weapon or path to escape.

"Let us not pretend we are unaware of the identity of the other, Hermione," he said, smiling indulgently as though she were a child who'd told an unamusing joke. "I see you've made short work of Antonin's wards down in the dungeons despite being relieved of your wand."

He held up the vine-wood instrument that had not left her possession since she'd been eleven, offering her a knowing little smile when she unconsciously took a step closer, her hand lifting as though she might reach for it.

"Please," he inclined his head politely to a second wing-backed chair opposite his own – this one facing the fireplace, rather than the staircase. "Join me, Hermione. You and I have much to discuss."

"I'd really prefer that if it is your intent to kill me, you don't delay and offer me some false sense of comfort or hope that I might escape unscathed," Hermione said mildly, frowning.

He laughed, and Hermione shuddered at the terrible sound like rattling bones.

"Ah, so there is some spirit in you. I'd wondered what Severus might've been attracted to. He never did like a meek witch, and I suspect you are anything but," Voldemort said, and Hermione loathed the faintest flicker of pride that sparked at the summation.

She frowned further at his mention of Snape, wondering just how he knew that she and Professor Snape had been intimate.

"Did you invade my mind while I was unconscious?" she asked, worried that he might've uncovered something terrible.

"No," he smiled. "Sit with me, Hermione. It is only polite that discussion take place over tea, no? And you've been unconscious for quite some time. I expect you're thirsty."

Hermione frowned, having not noticed how dry her mouth was until that moment.

"Have you poisoned the tea?" she asked suspiciously.

"My, Gryffindors are a blunt lot, aren't they?" Voldemort chuckled again. "To so bluntly ask such a thing is to malign my character, you know? In polite society, one is expected to follow social cues and risk such a poisoning by detecting from their hosts actions whether they might be about to be poisoned."

"I am aware," Hermione replied evenly. "However, it would be folly to do anything other than mistrust you. You are, after all, well known."

"And as waspishly eloquent as Severus, too," Voldemort smirked. "Come, let us not reach the portion of the evening where my request that you join me in sitting becomes a command, Hermione Granger. I am not known for my patience, after all."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, having no doubt that he meant he'd use the Imperius curse on her to make her cooperate if need be. Crossing the room warily, watching as he lowered her wand back into his lap, Hermione moved until she was able to perch on the edge of the chair. She watched as he waved his hand, silently and wordlessly levitating his chair and causing it to spin until they were facing one another whilst both seated.

"Tea?" he offered politely, levitating a freshly brewed pot over the two cups and pouring them. Hermione inclined her head, her frown deepening at his manners. "Milk or sugar?"

"One and a dash, please," she said, finding herself resorting to her own manners when he was being so refined.

She watched him fix his own tea, too, before he lifted it to his lips and drank deeply. Hermione waited for him to swallow, and then to smile at her, his eyes just daring her to drink with him. Reaching for her bravery, and supposing that it would be better a quick death via poison than any other torturous end he might offer her, Hermione carefully picked up her cup and lifted it to her lips, taking a small sip to wet her mouth and having to clamp down on the urge to gulp down the liquid in order to warm her chilled form and relieve the parch of her throat.

"Now," Voldemort said, looking wickedly amused by her bravery. "You and I have much to discuss, Hermione Granger. The foremost of which regards the nature of your relationship with Severus."

"Professor Snape and I have no relationship," Hermione said evenly, setting her cup back on her saucer and trying to resist the urge she had to fling it at him.

Voldemort tutted, steepling his fingers once more.

"Hermione, it does not do that we lie to one another. Denying any relationship with Severus is a lie, and one that achieves very little. Just as I will not deny my intention to subject you to some of my less than polite habits, you will not deny your association with my most valued spy. Understood?"

"It's not a lie," Hermione smiled meanly. "Severus Snape is a teacher at Hogwarts and I am a student. For six years I have attended his lessons and often defied him when it suited me."

"You have been engaging in coitus with him," Voldemort said.

"True," Hermione inclined her head, though she wondered how he knew that. Had Snape told him? Was Harry right in thinking that Snape's intrigue with her was born of an order from the very wizard seated before her? "However, engaging in sex does not automatically equate to having a relationship. He is my teacher, and I have had sex with him. There is no more to it."

"No?" he asked. "So, it would be incorrect of me to assume that you are attracted to him?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "I make it a habit to avoid having sex with those I'm unattracted to."

"And just as specifically literal as him when he's feeling contrary, too," Voldemort murmured, eyeing her like she was some intriguing experiment he was examining under glass. "Allow me to rephrase. You are romantically intrigued by Severus and have been for months. You find his voice and his hands and his wicked little smirk alluring, and you have, on more than one occasion, wondered if anything might ever come of you crush."

Hermione's cheeks stained crimson.

"Begging your pardon, Lord Voldemort," she choked out. "But what has any of that to do with you?"

"Everything," he said, a mean little smile affixing itself upon his hideous face. "You see, my understanding of your character is that you are a mudblood. One who has befriended Harry Potter and several known Blood Traitors. You have made a name for yourself among your peers as being particularly clever and highly logical. You have also aligned yourself with the likes of werewolves, house-elves, giants, and other half-breeds. You are aligned with the Order of the Phoenix, and you champion a fight against whatever you deem to be prejudice within our world, no?"

Hermione supposed it would be contrary to balk over his description of her as a mudblood when it seemed clear he meant the very basest of definitions, in that both of her parents were muggles. He didn't seem to be using the word maliciously with the intent to insult her, and so she didn't allow herself to rise to the bait.

"Does my character intrigue you so?" she asked mildly, reaching for her tea-cup again and lifting it to her lips, regarding him over the rim. "I suppose I ought to be flattered. A muggle-born witch known to Lord Voldemort, leader of the blood-manic tyranny bent of the subjugation of muggles and any other magical being, not a wizard. Such an honour I've been bestowed."

"You know, I tolerate the silver-tongued sarcasm of Severus and Lucius, Miss Granger, for they are pledged to me and they amuse me. It would be unwise of you to assume you hold such high regard as to be permitted the same liberties."

Here, Hermione laughed. She didn't mean to, but the idea of being so properly chastised amused her more that it should.

"I beg your pardon, Lord Voldemort," she said, giggling a little. "I will endeavour to keep my sarcasm to a minimum. However, you  _are_  holding me in high enough regard to have learned so many interesting facts about my character, and so one must be left to wonder just what has prompted such interest from a man who, by all accounts, believes that people like me are fit for nothing better than slavery, degradation, and death. What could I possibly have done to have so captured your attention?"

"Severus," Voldemort answered, sipping his own tea once more.

"You take issue with his choice of bed-partner?" she asked.

"Often," Voldemort nodded.

"Dear Merlin, you're not uh… going to torture me for stepping on your territory, are you? Fancy him, do you?"

He narrowed his terrible red eyes on her. "Miss Granger, I will not warn you about the extent of my patience again," he said, apparently annoyed with her. "Now, you have drawn my attention because of your relationship with Severus for one reason, and one reason only. You see, everything about your character would suggest that aligning yourself with a Death Eater – even for so brief a tryst as a casual sexual encounter – suggests a certain willingness to overlook that which others of your position revile, scorn, and openly attack, no?"

"You want to know why someone like me might shag someone like him?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You had me kidnapped to find out why I'd shag him?"

He inclined his head, awaiting an explanation.

"Would you like a justification or a defence of my actions?" Hermione asked quietly. "I'm not sure I can offer either."

"You have seen Severus's tattoo, no?" he asked, frowning a little. "You  _know_  he is a Death Eater, loyal to me and my cause."

"I've seen his Dark Mark," Hermione chose her words carefully.

"And you understand that he earned it long before Albus Dumbledore brought him under his wing and foolishly believed Severus might turn traitor to me and his fellow Death Eaters?" Voldemort pushed.

"I am aware that there are certain aspects of his past, and his present, that my friends take issue with, and that his past indiscretions are undoubtedly things that would turn my stomach," Hermione said, wondering what he was getting at.

"And yet, you are still infatuated."

"I never said I was infatuated," Hermione protested.

"You didn't have to," Voldemort smiled indulgently again. "It's all right there in the forefront of your mind. I don't even have to dig for it. You are attracted to Severus. You fancy him, despite knowing what he is – perhaps even  _because_  of what he is. And I wonder how that can be when you are so obviously a morally good person. Unprejudiced. Logical. Self-righteous. Virtuous. These are your attributes. Yet you are drawn to a man whose soul is blackened by Dark magic and whose moral compass is thoroughly corrupt. Someone cruel. Cold. Wicked. Merciless. Dark."

Hermione nodded slowly, supposing that there was little point denying her crush when he apparently could see inside her head enough to find it with ease. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps blatant honestly would be best.

"I am," she admitted. "I cannot explain why. I could detail that his cruel sense of humour is as clever as it is creative. I could discuss his loyalty, or his wicked ability to unsettle those around him without uttering a single word. He is powerful. He is… interesting. I enjoy his rapier wit as much as I enjoyed carnal delight in his embrace. I cannot pinpoint  _why_  I'm fascinated by him; I can simply accept it and act upon it. As I have done."

"Indeed," Voldemort said quietly, falling silent as he regarded her, still looking morbidly curious in a way that unnerved her.

"May I ask why that intrigues you?" she asked.

He tipped his head, still watching her before he smiled widely.

"It calls into question your loyalty to Potter," he said.

"My loyalty will always lie with Harry," Hermione hissed, stung by the accusation. "The scratching of a proverbial itch does not negate my loyalty to him."

Voldemort laughed.

"And what of his loyalty to you, Hermione Granger?" he asked. "Do you think Harry Potter will be forgiving when he learns you have been allowing my dour and wicked Potions Master to crawl between your thighs? When you have been lying to him about doing so? Come, you know the boy well, yes? You tell me. Is Harry Potter going to forgive you when he finds out you've been fucking a Death Eater?"

Hermione blinked in surprise as the crassness and the amount of venom in that final line and she narrowed her eyes.

"I had no intention of telling him," she said evenly.

Voldemort's smile grew positively lascivious and he leaned forward in his chair.

"It would be a mistake to imagine that your will might come before mine, Hermione," he said softly.

"You mean to out my secret?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "To what end? Surely hurting Harry would more effectively be achieved by killing me, than by simply telling him of my indiscretions?"

"Do you imagine that I've reached the power and gained the following I have collected by ruthlessly and thoughtlessly murdering any who might annoy me, Miss Granger?" Voldemort asked. "You are well educated, for a mudblood. You have a firm grasp on the circumstance of my last rise to power. You tell me why it will be far more painful for Potter to have to look at you everyday knowing you're nothing but a Death Eater's whore, rather than by allowing him the rallying point and outrage of offering you a swift end."

Hermione felt dread twist in the pit of her stomach, realising instantly that while her death would wound Harry and her friends, seeing her with Severus – knowing what she had done and might very well still be doing – would torment them far worse. Like a throbbing thumb hit with a hammer and bumping on everything, it would be a constant reminder of the pain, rather than simply lopping the digit off.

"You mean to set me free, then?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, yes," Voldemort smirked. "Your wand will be returned to you in short order and you will soon be set free to return to your precious Order. Even now, they scramble to protect Potter and to rescue you from my clutches. Imagine their horror as they imagine what you might endure under my care when they can't see any of the usual signs of torture. Imagine their distrust when I send you back into the midst. Will they think you a spy, under the Imperius curse and reporting back to me? Will they think you some broken, fragile doll, shattered and destroyed in the clutches of my wicked Death Eaters. Will Molly Weasley, the wretched blood traitor, still imagine a life where you'll be her daughter-in-law when she finds out you've been soiled by the Dark?"

Hermione hated the way her eyes stung with the urge to cry, realising that he wouldn't just be punishing them, but would also be punishing her. He would isolate her from her friends and make her something sad and terrible in their eyes. Harry would hate her if he found out about her and Snape. Ron might already know, but she was no fool. She knew that Ron would fear she'd been raped and tortured. She knew that Molly had been holding out hope that she and Ron would be a couple, one day. She knew that the likes of Remus and Tonks and Ginny would look at her pityingly, wondering what she had endured and likely would refuse to speak about.

"What do you mean to do to me before sending me back?" she asked softly, doubting he would simply return her unscathed.

He smirked at her, a terrible, almost proud smile that made her feel like a stupid child he was indulging.

"Nothing you can't handle, Hermione," he said just as softly. "Nothing you won't revel in. Nothing you haven't secretly longed for, deep in your heart."

Hermione's stomach twisted with dread.

"Tell me, what do you think of this place?" he asked abruptly, his sinister promise forgotten and his shoulders squaring as he suddenly got to his feet. He offered her his hand like a proper gentleman, apparently intending to give her a tour or lead her somewhere.

Hermione eyed the appendage like it were a live snake and he raised his eyebrows in silent challenge. Or he would have done, she supposed, suddenly noticing that much like his head was bald, his brow-ridges bore no hair. Perhaps the result of whatever serpentine traits he'd picked up in his return to human form. She could tell from his expression that he would not tolerate the insult of her refusing his assistance and Hermione shuddered as she reached out, putting her small hand inside his and allowing him to help her to her feet. His skin was cold to touch, and the very thought of his skin against hers turned her stomach.

"Brave little mudblood, aren't you?" he asked. "Definitely Severus's type."

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Where is Severus?" she asked him.

"Oh, you'll see him soon enough, I'm sure," Voldemort smiled. "Now come. A tour of this lovely dwelling is in order."

He led her across the room, tucking her arm through his elbow and escorting her like some dapper gentleman of old. Hermione felt ill, but she didn't dare pull her hand away as he led her through a door and down a narrow corridor. The design of the house seemed to be gothic-Victorian and Hermione noted the dark colours of everything, wondering why it was that villains insisted on darkness and dampness and a complete lack of taste.

"The grounds are lovely in the winter, no?" he asked, leading her down the hall and through another doorway into a long, open room with an impressively sized dining table. One entire wall was filled up with windows that overlooked a breathtaking garden, even whilst shrouded in snow. He led her to the window, letting her look out and Hermione couldn't deny that he was right. There was a small lake in the distance, but the foreground was filled with perfectly manicured gardens, a fantastic polished marble fountain in the shape of a rearing herd of unicorns, and a hedge maze.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, breathless with the view, the world blanketed in gleaming white snow that was utterly undisturbed.

"Selwyn Hall," he told her. "Not far from Stonehaven."

Hermione frowned.

"This is the home of that family who was slaughtered down to the last child?" she asked.

"No longer," Voldemort said. "In fact, it is the home Severus is poised to inherit. Glorious, no?"

"It's lovely," Hermione said tightly, the swirling pit of dread inside her stomach begin to roil and bubble terribly.

"Come, I will show you to your quarters," Voldemort hummed, seeming pleased. Hermione suspected he could feel her mount dread and was amused by it.

" _My_  quarters?" she asked, alarmed.

"Unless you'd prefer to return to the dungeons?" he offered. "Only, you've been down there for almost three full days and so you're beginning to smell."

Hermione blanched.

"Three days?" she hissed. "I was unconscious for three days?"

"Antonin was a little overzealous when he knocked you on the head," Voldemort said, as though that were the only cause for her concern.

"You've been holding me captive for three days?" she demanded, pulling her arm out of his grip to glare at the Dark wizard hatefully, preparing now to lose her temper.

"Indeed," he answered imperiously. "And I'll have you know, Hermione Granger, that I'm rather put out with you for taking quite so long to wake up. I have a very busy schedule and catering to the healing time of mudbloods is rarely a priority of mine."

"My apologies for inconveniencing you. Next time, perhaps don't have me kidnapped and beaten over the head," she snarled, glaring at him hatefully.

She jumped back in fright when he began to laugh and clapped his hands together like a small boy, apparently delighted by her responses.

"So like Severus when you lose your temper," he said cheerfully. "I am so looking forward to your reunion with him."

"Will that be soon?" Hermione demanded.

"Just as soon as you've washed up and dressed yourself. If you would permit me to continue escorting you to your quarters, you will find that everything is laid out and ready for you in preparation for this evening."

"This evening?" she asked, not at all liking the gleam in those red eyes.

"Oh yes, Hermione, my friend," he said, smiling almost gently now. "This evening you'll be attending a fine Christmas dinner at Malfoy Manor alongside myself, Severus, the Malfoys and the entire cohort of my loyal Death Eaters. Won't that be fun?"

Hermione had to lunge for the nearest window and crack it open, leaning through the gap when the limited contents of her roiling stomach decided to make a reappearance.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

"Is there any word, Severus?" Albus asked quietly across the dining table at Grimmauld Place while the entirety of the Order were seated and fuming, beside themselves with worry. No member had been excused due to age on this meeting. Severus had only just managed to return from Malfoy Manor and the debauchery he'd been sucked into on the Dark Lord's Orders.

He paced restlessly back and forth in front of the fireplace, trying to bring his body temperature back to something that vaguely resembled normal. He had been forced to retreat deeper and deeper into his Occlumency as the Dark Lord toyed with him, and his brethren geared up in preparation for the Lordship ceremony that would pass the ownership of Selwyn Hall to him.

"The Dark Lord is holding her somewhere," Severus said quietly, continuing to pace without looking at any of them. "I have not been entrusted with the location, though I suspect that he means to reveal her this evening."

"This evening?" Albus pushed, having asked all the others to remain silent and allow him to question Severus.

"He is hosting a Yuletide dinner at Malfoy Manor," Severus said. "Attendance has been made mandatory for every Death Eater, every sympathizer to the cause, and every member of their families, down to the last child."

"He means to kill them?" Albus asked, looking alarmed.

Severus snorted.

"If he plans to sacrifice anyone this evening, it will undoubtedly be one know-it-all little mudblood," Severus sneered abrasively, and several people hissed at him for the term. "Based on Narcissa and Lucius's knowledge of the event, I don't believe he means for this evening to be a grisly affair. It is Christmas, after all. A time for giving. Tonight marks the beginning of the week long celebration in the lead up to the Dark Lord's birthday."

"You believe Hermione will be in attendance?" Albus asked, and Severus caught the way he had to flick his wand at Potter to Silence him when the boy opened his mouth, set to explode.

"And dressed up like a fine china doll for all to gawk at," Severus growled. "She will not enjoy this evening. I do not know where she has been held or what she has endured since her capture. All I have managed to learn is that the Dark Lord summoned one of Narcissa's personal elves this evening, intent on enlisting her assistance to make Miss Granger  _presentable_."

"You suspect he has a purpose for capturing her and presenting her to the brethren?" Albus asked, his brow furrowing, and Severus glanced over to meet the old man's gaze. There was no twinkle in those blue eyes this evening.

"It's a time for  _giving_ , Albus," Severus said in a low voice. "He means to give  _me_  Selwyn Hall as a lavish Christmas gift."

"That has nothing to do with Hermione," Weasley interrupted, obviously missing the silent conversation carrying on between Severus and Albus.

"You believe he means to initiate the rituals of Old Magic to ensure your Lordship?" Albus said, his eyes widening.

All around the table the older generation of witches and wizards gasped in horror, recoiling from the very idea.

"He likes for things to be done  _properly_ ," Severus sneered.

"Severus, no," Minerva said, her lower lip trembling.

"You believe he means to utilise Granger for the task?" Moody asked, and Severus fought the urge to fling hexes at all of them and flee the room, realising he was on the brink of revealing his indiscretions with the girl.

"I can see no other reason for him to have captured her and to be planning to invite her to dinner. Were she to be the sport of the evening, she would not be invited to sit at the table. The scandal of inviting a muggle-born to sit alongside pureblood families that date back centuries will not be for nothing."

"Severus, no!" Minerva whispered harshly, he eyes filling. "Not the girl."

Severus clenched his fist, looking away from her tortured expression and into the flames.

"What's he going to do?" Ron Weasley asked in a low voice. "What does a Lordship ceremony in the Old Magic entail that might call for someone like Hermione?"

"It's a blood ceremony," Lupin spoke up. "One that calls for a human sacrifice. To engage in Lordship the candidate in question must perform the human sacrifice and must… Severus, he means to have you marry, as well?"

Severus didn't dare look at any of them.

"Whom?" Minerva asked, her voice tight.

"I'm told that the Dark Lord has also been meeting regularly with Alecto Carrow," Severus bit out, reaching for a half-drunk bottle of whiskey on the mantle above the fire and twisting the lid off furiously.

"He means to have you sacrifice Hermione and marry Carrow?" Minerva gasped. "We have to save her!"

Severus's gut twisted, and he peered over his shoulder, once again meeting Albus's gaze. The old man's eyes widened when he realised what Severus was implying with that single look.

"Severus," he said. "You cannot be serious."

Severus tipped the bottle to his lips.

"What?" Weasley asked. "Serious about what?"

Severus would give it to the brat, for someone usually so unobservant, he was proving sharp this evening.

"Severus,  _why_?" Albus asked the most important question.

His laugh was dark and cruel, his back to all of them.

"Does it matter?" Severus asked. "I cannot save her. The Dark Lord is determined."

Molly Weasley burst into tears. "Oh, my poor girl," she sobbed into her husband's shoulder and Severus fought the urge to inform them all that there was nothing poor about her and that she'd probably enjoy every minute of the ceremony when it commenced.

"What is it?" Potter finally threw off the silencing charm. "What's going to happen to Hermione?"

"Harry…" Lupin began gently. "She… Gods, Severus. There's  _nothing_  you can do to save her?"

Severus peered over at the wolf. "Not unless you'd like to crawl in there and fight Greyback before stealing her away."

"I'll do it," Lupin said immediately. "Where is she being held?"

"No clue," Severus said, his mouth twisting angrily. "I won't know where she is until she's presented to the brethren at dinner this evening at Malfoy Manor."

"I could go in your stead," Lupin offered. "Polyjuice potion. I could snatch her away."

"Even in my skin, Greyback would smell you for what you truly are," Severus reminded him. "You would be in the midst of the entire court and all of their families. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people. You would not escape with your life, Lupin, and Granger would lose hers in the scuffle."

Remus deflated, his brow pulling down into a terrible frown.

"Is he going to kill her?" Potter asked. "I swear to Merlin, Snape, if you kill Hermione, I'll pull you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left."

The whole table was silent for a long moment at the boy's dark threat and Severus turned toward him slowly, his lips curling back into a terrible grimace that looked almost like a cruel smile.

"Oh, the Dark Lord doesn't intend to have me  _kill_  her, Potter," Severus practically purred. "You imagine he can't tell the difference between the brief sting of killing off someone you love over returning her to you broken and ruined?"

Potter frowned.

"Severus, you can't mean…" Minerva gasped, and Severus narrowed his eyes before lifting the whiskey bottle to his lips once more and skolling the contents in one.

His eyes were closed as he drank, and so he didn't see the attack coming until someone took him by the throat, propelling him backward until he hit the wall. Severus's eyes sprang open and he dug his wand into the ribs of the wizard choking him, expecting Potter. He frowned in surprise when the angry blue eyes and dull red hair of Ronald Weasley filled his gaze.

Ah, so the ex-lover of the girl  _did_  care for her.

"If you do  _anything_  to make this harder for her than it needs to be, I'm going to put you in the ground, Snape," Weasley snarled as some of his family members rose to their feet in surprise at his attack. "I don't care who you have to hurt, or how you have to defy your Dark Lord, you bring Hermione back to us, whole and unhurt and as annoyingly bossy as she can possibly be or so help me, the things that you and your Death Eater buddies do to people will look like child's play in comparison to the hell I'll unleash on you. Do you understand? I think we both know exactly what you're going to have to do to save her, and exactly  _why_  she's in this mess to begin with, and if you don't get her out of there safe, then don't you bother coming back at all. You got me?"

Severus eyed the young wizard hatefully, realising as he listened to the boy's threats that he  _knew._  He knew why Granger had been taken. He  _knew_  Severus had been fucking her.

"She told you," he said quietly, frowning.

"She tells me  _everything_ ," Weasley retorted.

"Mr Weasley, unhand Severus at once," Minerva barked when the boy glared into his face, just daring Severus to deny it or to hex him. He itched with the urge to do just that, aching with the need to take his fury and his impotence in this situation out on someone.

He wouldn't let it be this boy, no matter that he deserved it for daring to threaten him and daring to touch him. He wouldn't take his fury out on Miss Granger's closest confidant. She would be in need of him when –  _if_  – Severus managed to snatch her out of the Dark Lord's clutches alive. Shoving Weasley back with all of his considerable strength, the boy stumbled across the room and collided with the table while Severus straightened his robes before glaring down his nose at them all when a few of the Order members glared at him for his rough treatment of the younger wizard.

Before he could open his mouth to argue with Weasley's suggestion, or sneer at him over what Miss Granger would become, searing pain shot through his left forearm and Severus hissed, clutching the Dark Mark concealed under his sleeve and gritting his teeth against the agony. It seemed the Dark Lord was in high spirits and feeling overzealous to see them.

"Severus?" Albus said quietly when a few people muttered in surprise over his sudden show of pain.

Severus darted his gaze to the old man's, waiting for whatever parting words the old sod might offer him before he could walk to his demise.

"In order for the ritual Tom is planning to work, Miss Granger would have to agree to this of her own volition," Albus said quietly. "Are you sure you can save her?"

Severus felt his lips twist into a truly wicked smirk, stung by the insinuation that the little swot might not agree to whatever he had to do to get her out of there alive.

"Believe me, Albus," Severus drawled wickedly. "Miss Granger is always entirely  _willing_  where I'm concerned."

Minerva gasped in a choked breath, looking appalled, and around the table many of his colleagues all looked horrified and like he'd just declared himself a lascivious cad.

"What have you done to Hermione?" Potter snarled, shooting to his feet as Severus began rounding the table, heading for the door.

When he reached where Potter stood, Severus leaned in, sneering coldly at the Chosen One.

"Only those things she begged of me," he drawled cruelly. "And you can rest assured, Mr Potter, she begs like an angel."

"You bastard!" Potter shouted, flinging a hex at him. "You're lying!"

Severus laughed, blocking the hex with ease and raising his eyebrows.

"Am I?" he asked.

"I'll kill you for this," Potter snarled at him. "How dare you besmirch Hermione's character just to make yourself feel better about the things you'll have to do to bring her back?"

Severus laughed coldly. "Potter, I'm certain that  _you_  have no real grasp on Miss Granger's character at all. You claim to be her best friend, but you don't even know what she likes or who she fucks. In your arrogance, you've merely assumed you know the type of witch she is becoming. You presume that she is all goodness and light and cleverness and that she'd never so much as peek into the Restricted Section of the library. You assume she'd never break the rules unless you're influencing her."

Potter's left eye twitched and Severus smirked.

"I'll bet you imagined her to be a prudish little virgin, too," Severus taunted, unable to hold his tongue when his arm was throbbing, and he'd been drinking, and he was about to walk to a fate that would either have him murdering or marrying the very witch he spoke of. "Believe me, Mr Potter,  _that_  is very far from the truth. It is that arrogance that the Dark Lord seeks to exploit as he rubs your nose in the fact that your sweet, clever little friend isn't so loyal after all. He'll send her back to you tainted and infected with the Darkness she's become so intrigued with, and he'll revel in your torment when you arrogantly assume that her capture was all your fault. The witch I'll return to this very house will  _not_  be the girl you thought she was, and when you inevitably recoil from her in disgust for her choices and her associations it will be  _me_  who'll have to put her back together."

"Severus, enough," Albus intervened when Potter's wand arm twitched and his face twisted with fury like he might curse him.

"If I were you, I'd see to it that the girl's parents are fetched and ready to receive her should I manage to save her from death, Albus," Severus said coldly. "The things she will endure before she is permitted to return are things that will make her cry for her mother."

With that said, and his teeth gritted against another wave of pain emanating from his Dark Mark, Severus stalked out of Grimmauld Place, bracing himself for the horror to come and hating himself for the Darkness whispering inside his head that it was going to be the night of his life.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

Hermione scrubbed herself thoroughly in the shower, trying her hardest to remove the feel of Voldemort's cold flesh from her skin. She was trembling as she stood there scrubbing, terrified that she was going to be killed or tortured in short order, and it was hard not to draw out her shower even longer just to avoid having to be escorted to Malfoy Manor.

She needed to escape, but without her wand, she could do little. There was a fireplace in her room, but when she'd tried using her Floo powder to escape through it, nothing had happened. She suspected all the fires had been disconnected from the Floo in just such an event that she might try to escape, and she'd cursed a blue streak before submitting to the urge to warm up and rinse off in the shower.

She had a terrible, sinking feeling that whatever Voldemort planned to do to her would be public and painful, and likely something she would have to spend the rest of her life living down. As such she had decided to do her damnedest to ensure that those who would witness her misfortune would have little to snigger over. She'd trimmed and shaved, and otherwise primped, and she was scrubbing her skin hard enough to turn it pink all over.

When she finally climbed out of the shower and towelled off, Hermione shrieked in surprise to find a house-elf waiting for her in the bedroom.

"Good evening, Miss," the elf curtsied to her. "The Dark Lord is be telling Misty to ensure you is perfect for your dinner party and so Misty has everything prepared. Please, sit."

"Misty, are you able to get me out of here?" Hermione asked the elf, thinking quickly and wondering if, like Dobby, this elf would prefer to be free.

Misty shook her head so hard that her ears flapped.

"Misty is be doing as she told and Misty be told to fix the Miss. Sit!" the elf stomped one of her little feet and Hermione was shocked by the show of rudeness from the creature.

Narrowing her eyes, but doing as she'd been told, Hermione crossed the room and lowered herself onto the dressing table stool, eyeing the elf in the mirror.

"Such uncontrolled curls," Misty clucked her tongue before snapping her fingers, instantly drying Hermione's hair into perfect, smooth ringlets. "You is be needing it styled up, Misty thinks. The Masters will prefer it if it's up. Won't be in the way."

The elf seemed to be muttering mostly to herself even as she dug her fingers into Hermione's hair and began twisting it into an elaborate up-do that she pinned in place with a collection of jewelled clips. Hermione narrowed her eyes on their blue colouration.

"Are those sapphires?" she asked of the elf.

"Yes, Miss," said Misty. "The Mistress be picking them out just for you."

"Who is your mistress?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Mistress Cissy," aid the elf.

Hermione frowned, wondering why Narcissa Malfoy might deem to send her an elf and some sapphire pins to make her look pretty for the dinner.

"Turn, Miss," the elf said, snapping her fingers and making Hermione's stool rotate.

Before Hermione could protest, the elf began attacking her face with make-up, painting her like a pretty china doll complete with winged eyes, blue and silver eye-shadow, enough foundation to conceal literally anything, and lips so ruby red, they almost looked black.

"Isn't this a bit much?" Hermione asked.

"Mistress be telling Misty what to do, and Misty does it. Miss looks lovely."

"Why must I be so primped for dinner?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Not just dinner, Miss. You is be the guest of honour. You is be looking your best, Misty makes sure."

Hermione didn't like the sound of being anyone's guest of honour.

"Up now," the elf said. "You is be needing your dress."

"I don't have any other clothes," Hermione told the elf.

Misty rolled her eyes and tugged Hermione to her feet, twisting her around to face the corner of the room. There, upon a mannequin, stood a gown of pure starlight. Silk of the brightest silver shaped perfectly into a Victorian-era-meets-Princess dress glittered with tiny jewels and intricate lace.

"I can't wear that," Hermione breathed, awed by the sight of the garment. The sleeves were three quarter, sheer and white. The bodice was boning, overlayed with brilliant silk, and glittering with jewels. The skirt was wide and flared, heavy layers of tulle pushing the silk into a wide and puffy shape before the overlay of silk made it gleam like starlight.

"Nonsense," Misty said. "It be designed just for you. Miss wears."

With a snap of the elf's fingers the bathrobe was peeled from Hermione's shoulders and she eyed the elf in annoyance.

"I haven't any clean knickers," she said.

"You is not being permitted knickers," the elf shrugged, levitating the dress over and using magic to ensconce Hermione's body with their fabric.

"Shoes next," the elf chirped before Hermione could catch her breath or even look in the mirror.

She was pushed back into her seat and the elf fastened a pair of jewel-encrusted death traps with six-inch heels to her feet. Cushioning charms, courtesy of Misty, were applied to them and Hermione sighed at the difference they made.

"There," the elf sighed finally. "Miss is ready."

Hermione got to her feet, crossing the room to stand in front of a mirror in the corner. She barely believed it was her own reflection when she laid eyes upon herself. She looked wicked and sensual and entirely too much like bride for her own comfort.

"Thank you, Misty," Hermione said in a soft voice, trying not to cry when it occurred to her that perhaps Voldemort had no intention of allowing her to return to the Order without first tying her to a member of his brethren. His interest in her relationship with Snape suddenly called into sharp focus what he seemed to have planned for her.

Hermione loathed that though her stomach was twisting in knots, she also felt a seductive thrill of excitement lick through her veins.

"I fetch the Master," Misty bowed, smiling proudly. "Miss looks beautiful."

She disapparated with a sharp crack and Hermione was left alone in the bedroom with only her thoughts and her reflection to keep her company. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that though no one had asked her, this was to be her wedding night. She didn't dare contemplate what that might entail, or what Voldemort hoped to achieve by tying her to Severus Snape. She certainly hoped that was his plan rather than that he was going to torture her and have her killed. The lack on undergarments worried her and Hermione desperately hoped they weren't going to rape her.

She needed to get out, but she didn't see a way. She would simply have to ride out this wicked plan that Lord Voldemort had cooked up to see where it would all end. Admiring her reflection, Hermione bit her lip, knowing she'd never looked so pretty and knowing that she might never look so nice, ever again.

A knock on her door sounded before she could cry, and Hermione squared her shoulders, more determined than ever that they wouldn't see her cry or witness any weakness from her. She suspected that was what they wanted, and she refused to allow it. They would not see her weak! Crossing the room, Hermione opened the door, blinking in horror and surprise to find Voldemort on the other side. He was dressed in formal black robes, fitted perfectly to his powerful frame.

His red eyes travelled over her slowly from head to toe, taking in the jewels in her hair and sweeping the full length of her body to spy the jewels on her shoes. When he met her gaze, his lips twitched as though he wanted to smile.

"My, won't Severus be surprised?" he practically purred.

"I should think so," Hermione agreed, and she watched the way his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Come along then, Hermione, my friend. It would seem we've a dinner to attend," he said, offering her his arm, apparently intent on escorting her once more. Hermione wanted to shudder and tell him he could shove his escort and his dinner up his bum, but she bit her tongue on the urge, stepping across the threshold and into the corridor, accepting the arm he offered to her.

She wasn't expecting the jerk behind her navel when he disapparated them both with a sharp crack and Hermione hoped she wouldn't ruin her dress by vomiting when they landed on the lawn of what must surely be Malfoy Manor.

Despite the gothic theme of the looming mansion, every window seeing to be alight with music and laughter, and from the outside, looking in, not yet knowing just who or what awaited within, it looked inviting.

"Beautiful, no?" Voldemort asked quietly.

"Only when one looks at the surface," Hermione replied softly. "Like a shiny red apple just begging me to take a bite and expose the wormy, poisoned flesh within."

Voldemort smiled.

"And soon they shall be a part of you, and you, a part of them."

"You mean to marry me to Severus?" she asked, and Voldemort actually paused, mid-stride, glancing at her.

"So, you  _are_  as clever as the rumours say," Voldemort said, seeming intrigued. "Oh yes, I intend to wed you to one of my followers. Severus, however, is free to choose which bride he would like."

"There is more than one choice?" Hermione asked, her heart skipping a beat with worry.

"Oh, yes," Voldemort smiled. "I am not so barbaric as to deprive anyone of their free will. Weddings, after all, must be entered into willingly in order for them to be binding."

"How unfortunate for you that I'm unwilling," Hermione replied evenly, meeting his gaze hatefully.

"Are you?" he asked, smiling. "Legilimency, Hermione Granger, does not stop at the ruthless invasion of the mind. It is a constant sense of the emotions those around us feel. I know that for all your fear and your fury over what is to come, there is a part of you that trembles and thrills at the thought of marrying Severus tonight. If you are lucky, he will pick you."

"And if he doesn't?" Hermione asked quietly.

Voldemort trailed his eyes over her gown once more, making her skin crawl.

"It will be shame to get so much blood on so fine a dress," he smiled widely, the incarnation of cruelty and Hermione gulped audibly. "Now come, we've a wedding feast to attend."

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Severus looked up as a hush fell over everyone where they were gathered in the ball room, awaiting the arrival of the Dark Lord. The chilling presence of the Dark Lord fluttered through the crowd and Severus tipped his head, watching the Dark Lord make his entrance.

He wasn't alone.

The witch on his arm was young and beautiful, a perfect embodiment of fragility and sensuality combined, that made his cock twitch inside his trousers. He knew the curves ensconced in that dress. Her wild mane of chocolate curls had been tamed into a stylish knot, adorned with sapphires that sparkled in the firelight. She stood proud, her shoulders back, her chin raised, her eyes just daring anyone to attack her or ridicule her for her capture, her blood status, or her looking so much like a perfectly painted doll.

She seemed unhurt, Severus noted with a niggling sense of relief, though she looked thinner than he recalled. She had her arm looped through that of the Dark Lord and Severus smirked just the tiniest bit when he noticed that though she stood there, bold as brass, it was clear to him that she'd like to be anywhere else. Not that his fellow Death Eaters would know that. They'd never seen the expression she wore when she was right where she wanted to be, but Severus had seen the wicked little smile she wore when she was pleased about something, and this wasn't it.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the large number of gathered people present and seeming a little surprised. She must've only been expecting the marked Death Eaters to be in attendance and she seemed a little wrong-footed as a result. In his mask, Severus doubted the girl would recognise him and her eyes did slide past before skidding back. She widened her eyes slightly, perhaps in silent invitation that he invade her mind to communicate with her, but Severus knew the Dark Lord would be expecting it and refrained.

"Well," Lucius drawled, sauntering up next to him as everyone fell silent, many of them not recognising the girl. "I  _almost_  envy you, Severus. She does scrub up nicely, I suppose. Though that defiant glint in her eyes might get her killed."

Lucius sipped his whiskey, eyeing Severus curiously. Severus concealed his thoughts and made certain to keep his expression blank. If the Dark Lord thought him too intent on saving the girl by marrying her, he'd force him to choose Carrow instead.

"My friends," the Dark Lord said pleasantly, speaking over the sudden silence that filled the hall as they all stared at him and the mostly unknown witch upon his arm. "Shall we commence with dinner?"

There was a murmur of assent and Severus watched as the families of the brethren and the sympathisers were shown to the dining hall first. When only the immediate brethren remained, the Dark Lord escorted Granger down the stairs and Severus made a mental note to congratulate her that she never faltered or stumbled in her heels.

"What have we here, my Lord?" Bella asked, her tone alight with jealousy.

"Potter's mudblood," the Dark Lord replied. "Hermione, won't you say hello to my friends?"

Severus watched her for signs that she was under the Imperius curse, shocked just a little when she gave a very proper-seeming curtsey and inclined her head politely.

"Good evening," she said, her voice low and cool, utterly detached.

"Granger?" Draco asked softly, seeming shocked to realise it was actually her. Severus supposed she did look different.

"Good evening, Draco," Hermione spoke politely before stepping out of the Dark Lord's grip – to his apparent surprise – and reaching a hand for Draco's face.

The boy seemed so shocked by her appearance in their midst that he didn't flinch back from her as he ought, given her blood status. Severus wasn't the only one who watched with morbid curiosity when the girl touched Draco's face, carefully gripping his chin and turning his head to reveal the faint bruise over his right eye.

"Fighting again, Malfoy?" she asked, smirking just a little.

"Potter took issue with your disappearance," he retorted, jerking back from her quickly.

"How valiant of him," Granger said, making no mention of the snog Severus had witnessed the pair share that had undoubtedly caused her to be late for the train and might very well have been subterfuge on Draco's part to ensure Dolohov could capture her.

"Shall we?" she asked when no one spoke, all of them seeming confused by her presence and her apparent calmness. Severus wondered if she'd been given Calming Draught, but her pupils weren't dilated, and her eyes were bright, rather than glassy.

She looked daringly at the Dark Lord and raised her eyebrows, apparently awaiting escort to the table.

"Eager to begin, Hermione?" the Dark Lord teased, smiling wickedly and causing a few of his followers to laugh cruelly.

"Famished, actually," she said, sounding bored. "Three days unconscious in a dungeon tends to leave one feeling rather ravenous and I feel certain that if anyone knows how to host a decadent and lavish feast, it would be Mrs Malfoy."

The Dark Lord tittered out a laugh and Narcissa stood a little taller, even if the praise had come from a mudblood.

"I sense no fear from you despite being in the immediate presence of my closest and most loyal Death Eaters," the Dark Lord murmured, looking intrigued. "Are you so brave? Or so foolish as to think you are safe in their midst."

Severus almost choked on his sip of whiskey when she laughed softly, a mean little chuckle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"I am just too hungry to care, one way or the other, what they might do to me, Lord Voldemort," she replied, drawing hisses from every Death Eater in the room, Severus included.

"You  _are_  a brave little thing," the Dark Lord laughed, and Severus wasn't at all sure he liked the intrigue on his master's face. "Dinner then, before you waste away to nothing."

He offered her his elbow once more and Severus looked on as Granger took it without hesitation. She allowed him to lead her into the room, and Severus followed behind, watching the girl be led to her seat – directly to the left of the Dark Lord where Severus himself usually sat. He took the seat beside her, watching the Dark Lord flick his wand to tuck her chair under her before he handed over  _her_  wand. Severus watched her take it, expecting her to try to disapparate, or at the very least to attempt a hex.

The girl did nothing. She simply took the weapon and tucked it onto her lap before primly waiting, back straight, expression blank, to be given permission to eat. Sitting beside her, Severus curled his foot around her leg, but she didn't react. She didn't even look at him. He felt a pit of dread begin to churn in his stomach.

Perhaps she knew.

Everyone was seated before the Dark Lord finally took his seat at the head of the table. He smiled widely at the gathered group, his Death Eaters the closest to him at the table. Severus noticed with some annoyance that directly opposite himself sat Antonin Dolohov – who was leering at Granger – and opposite Granger sat Alecto Carrow. She was smiling wickedly, also eyeing Granger, and from the way she was dressed similarly to Granger, only in darker shades of grey, it seemed that he was going to be expected to choose between the two witches. Severus felt ill.

"Welcome to our annual yuletide feast," the Dark Lord said regally when everyone remained silently, awaiting his word. "I feel certain we can trust that our darling host, Narcissa, has prepared the most delicious of meals, and I would be loath to keep you from it. Let us feast."

No one moved as the Dark Lord was served his meal, hundreds of elves streaming into the room and offering entrees to all. His own was placed in front of him – a creamy pumpkin soup by the smell – and Severus fought the urge to groan in delight. Narcissa's elves really did make the best food he'd ever eaten and no matter his concern for Granger or his turmoil over choosing between her and Carrow, and being forced to marry, his stomach cramped with hunger.

Only when the Dark Lord had dipped in his spoon and eaten the first bite did everyone else pick up their cutlery. Beside him, Granger didn't say as word as she delicately took up her spoon and dipped it into her soup before bringing it to her lips. A twitch of her wand in her lap caught his eye and Severus watched her cast a repelling charm to ensure she wouldn't spill soup on her fancy dress. He smirked to himself.

"Now," the Dark Lord said after a few bites, smiling widely. "I presume we all know each other. Hermione Granger, you are  _obviously_  familiar with Severus. And I feel certain you've no call for introduction with Antonin," he said, inclining his head toward the Russian, who smirked darkly at the girl he'd almost killed in June.

"Naturally," Granger said politely. "Despite the blow to the head, I doubt Mr Dolohov is someone whose face is easy to forget. I do hope I'll remember it when he is next tried for crimes against the wizarding world."

Severus watched Antonin inhale his soup down the wrong pipe and begin to choke on it while Hermione delicately spooned another mouthful of her own soup onto her tongue.

"Indeed," the Dark Lord laughed his terrible laugh. "Though I feel certain that with my triumph, Antonin will be placed in charge of a sector of the Ministry, rather than being charged by them."

"Oh?" Granger asked dryly. "You're adding a Capital Punishment division?"

"I hadn't thought about it, but it would certainly be more delicate that the Dementors, no?" the Dark Lord said, apparently enjoying his attempts to shake the girl while Antonin continued to cough, and the entire table was riveted upon the girl's defiance.

"No less depressing," Granger sighed, feigning whimsy. "But perhaps a touch warmer for the victims."

Severus almost closed his eyes, wondering what the Dark Lord had done to the girl before she very deliberately curled her leg around his beneath the table, almost looping her thigh over the top of his. She was scared, he realised, but not of him.

"Warmer, indeed," the Dark Lord grinned meanly. "And I doubt you've had the pleasure of making Alecto Carrow's acquaintance. May I introduce you?"

"By all means," Granger replied, playing along with all the grace of a princess. "I'd be thoroughly intrigued to meet a witch whose esteem your surely must hold in high regard if she is seated at your right hand. I'm certain I must've imagined that such a position would belong to someone delightful, like Bellatrix."

Two seats down, on Antonin's other side and next to her husband, Bellatrix hissed in annoyance at the pointed attention called to her demotion down the table since her blunder at the Department of Mysteries.

"Indeed," the Dark Lord said. "Dear Bella, does ordinarily occupy Alecto's seat."

"A promotion of status for the holidays, then?" Granger smiled cruelly at Carrow. "How quaint. You must be feeling terribly thrilled by your elevation, Alecto. I do wonder how long it might last?"

The other witch narrowed her eyes on Granger hatefully at her ability to draw attention to the fact that she was usually seated much further down the table beside her fool of a brother.

"Special allowances have been made this evening, mudblood," Bella spoke up, sucking sour grapes over the witch's jab at her. "Hence the atrocity of permitting you to sit at the table, rather than feeding at the trough in the barn."

"I see mine wasn't the only exception made this evening," Hermione drawled, never taking her eyes off the Dark Lord. "I don't know why, Lord Voldemort, but for some peculiar reason I had begun to think that your good manners must surely be reflected in your followers. Being mistaken is an unusual sensation for me, but I confess I'm not entirely surprised. How  _do_  you tolerate such unrefined speech in your presence?"

The Dark Lord wasn't the only one to laugh. This time Lucius, Dolohov, Rowle, and even Rodolphus snorted at the girl's jab at Bella's poor manners.

"We work with what we are given," the Dark Lord said, offering no defence of Bella.

"We do, indeed," Hermione said. "Shall you introduce me to the rest of your loyal servants this evening? I confess, I am just burning to know who they all are behind those garish masks."

"You would enjoy passing such information to the Order, no?" the Dark Lord asked.

Granger smile widely, appearing to slightly dazzle the Dark Lord with her pearly-white teeth and her expression of pure elation right then.

"I would be delighted," Hermione admitted. "Though, I confess, introductions aren't necessary for all."

"Infamy suits them," the Dark Lord smirked and everyone around the table in a Death Eater mask gave a wicked chuckle.

"Perhaps it does," the witch conceded softly. "Though I suppose that even if it doesn't, there is no going back now, is there?"

Her words, so softly spoken, rendered the table speechless and uncomfortable once more and Severus fought the urge to smirk.

"Severus, my friend?" the Dark Lord asked after narrowing his eyes ever so slightly on the curly-haired witch.

"Yes, my Lord?" Severus asked, meeting his master's gaze unflinchingly.

"I do hope you enjoy your Christmas present," he said, smiling widely. "Lordship of Selwyn Hall will suit you grandly, I should think."

"One can hope, my Lord," Sever replied evenly.

"The ceremony will begin after the meal," he said.

"A Lordship ceremony?" Hermione spoke up, her foot twitching against his calf muscle. "You mean to instigate the Old Magic to grant him the title?"

Lord Voldemort chuckled.

"You are familiar with the ritual, Miss Granger?" the Dark Lord asked, looking wickedly amused now as she began to realise just what she would be in for this evening.

"They don't call me a know-it-all for nothing," Miss Granger said quietly, glancing sideways at Severus.

He didn't return the look, knowing the Dark Lord was on the lookout. He wanted to make this painful and fraught with horror for the girl, and it would not to do suck the fun out of it by taking pity on her.

"Excellent," the Dark Lord clapped his hands together excitedly and Hermione jumped. Severus heard many of his brethren chuckle at her expense, amused by her nervousness after her trading of loaded barbs.

"Might I ask after the sacrifice, my Lord?" Severus asked quietly when everyone was distracted as the entrée plates were cleared and the main course began to be served.

The Dark Lord inclined his head, smiling wickedly and Severus wondered if he meant Granger or Carrow. Severus's eyes darted between the witches, but the Dark Lord shook his head minutely before nodding toward someone further down the table. Everyone was distracted by the meal and so his nod went unnoticed. Severus followed his eyes, spying someone who had displeased him greatly in the past and who's recent return to work had caused nothing but problems for the cause in their subtle takeover of the Ministry.

The truly wicked smirk that curled across his face made the Dark Lord laugh.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Hermione twisted her leg around Snape's under the table, barely controlling the impulse she had to begin firing Killing curses as everyone. She was on edge and she was hungry, barely resisting the urge to scarf down her food with as few manners as Ron in her hunger. Her stomach was cramping uncomfortably and despite her dread, she was too hungry not to eat.

All throughout dinner – which consisted of six courses and left her stomach feeling full to burst from beneath the whale-bone corset of her dress – Lord Voldemort kept a running commentary with his followers, asking after everyone's holiday plans and making merry. He drank whiskey alongside his followers and Hermione couldn't deny that he was charming.

"And you, Draco?" Voldemort asked. "How are your grades, this year?"

Draco Malfoy paused with his spoon of chocolate mousse half-way to his mouth, his eyes going wide like a deer in the headlights.

"Erm… not bad, my Lord," Malfoy choked out, looking alarmed to have been called upon. Hermione could tell at a glance that he wasn't thrilled about being a Death Eater and that he was scared out of his mind that he would be punished.

"Oh?" Voldemort asked. "I was under the impression your grades were suffering this year?"

Draco's cheeks mottled pink and Hermione glanced past Snape to stare at the blond wizard.

"Uh… yes, my Lord," Draco said. "They are a bit."

"And you, Miss Granger? How are your grades?" Voldemort asked politely.

"My grades are exemplary," Hermione said primly, not even caring that she sounded conceited and snobbish. "I've never received a lower grade than one Exceeds Expectations."

"Never?" Voldemort asked, raising his eyebrows before glancing at Snape, whose lips twisted into a sneer as he shook his head.

"Well, what does one expect when you're fucking your teachers?" Voldemort dropped into the conversation and everyone fell silent once more, apparently intrigued.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, just knowing he was trying to get a rise out of her.

"Actually, since fucking Severus, I don't believe he's had to mark any of my assignments," Hermione replied evenly.

Draco dropped his spoon.

"You're fucking him?" he blurted in absolute horror and Voldemort frowned at Draco's poorly concealed shock.

Hermione peered around Snape to meet Draco's gaze where he sat between his mother and father.

"Did you imagine I'd been dragged here for some other reason, Draco?" Hermione asked. "I'm certain I don't need to tell you that I am not actually here for the thrill of your company."

"You fucked a teacher?" Malfoy asked incredulously. " _You_? The goody-two-shoes little know-it-all who beats everyone else for top score in class? What? You've been fucking your teachers for your grades this whole time?"

Hermione smirked wickedly.

"Of course, I have," Hermione drawled crassly. "It's the perfect way to collect a pocketful of 'O's. I meet with McGongall at lunch and lick her wrinkled old twat until she screams. And every week after class on Thursdays, I felate Binns behind the tapestry on the third floor."

"Binns is a ghost," Draco protested thickly, looking disgusted at her suggestions.

"There's nothing like that rush when he walks right through me," Hermione shrugged. "And obviously Professor Slughorn just loves to bend me over his desk and…"

Snape's fingers lifted to press to her lips, stopping her words before she could utter them.

"I'd really rather not revisit my dinner so soon, Miss Granger," Severus drawled, his brow furrowed.

Without thinking, Hermione nipped his fingers gently, her eyes lifting to his in desperate need of reassurance that she wasn't going to die here surrounded by such wretched people. Voldemort laughed again, clapping like a delighted child and Hermione stared desperately at Snape, her leg curling around his even tighter.

"What was that you were saying about manners, mudblood?" Bella drawled from down the table.

Hermione narrowed her eyes without taking them off Snape, who was watching her like he wanted to pin her down and fuck her right there on the table.

"I like to adapt to fit the mannerisms of those around me, Lestrange," Hermione hissed, nipping the pad of Snape's thumb again when he traced it along her lower lip as though fascinated by the words that continued to spill out of her mouth.

"Uncle, really? You shagged her?" Draco asked, still sitting there pale-faced and looking utterly horrified.

Hermione grinned wickedly at Severus when he smirked.

"Where do you think she was coming from when she collided with you under the mistletoe, Draco?" Snape drawled, smirking at his godson.

"Excuse me?" Lucius demanded, stilling in horror. "Mistletoe?"

Draco's face was red with embarrassment, but he met her gaze and said, "Please tell me you weren't sucking my godfather's cock before you snogged me, Granger?"

Hermione flicked her eyes to Snape, wondering if she should mess with Malfoy just for the sake of making him uncomfortable but from the look on Snape's face it rather seemed like he might vomit if she were to say that.

"Not on that particular day, I wasn't," she offered, smirking at Draco.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Draco muttered, putting his head in his hands. Snape chuckled darkly, and Hermione could tell when she heard Voldemort huff that he was annoyed that his joke hadn't played out quite like he'd hoped.

"Draco?" Lucius demanded. "You've snogged a mudblood?"

"I didn't have a choice, Father," Draco muttered. "It was snog her, or be still standing there under that wretched mistletoe."

"Oh, so it wasn't a ploy to make me late, better enabling Dolohov to kidnap me?" Hermione asked snidely and again, everyone at the table fell silent.

Draco lifted his head, darting a glance across the table at Dolohov before looking over at her. Hermione caught the guilty glint in his eye.

"I would never stoop to such subterfuge, Granger," he drawled in a perfectly even tone.

Scandalised, and just knowing that he'd delayed her on purpose, Hermione drew her wand and flung a hex at her school rival. Too slow with his own wand, Draco took the Stinging Jinx to the chest before Snape caught her wand arm, forcing the tip back toward her.

"And she's quick with that wand, too," Voldemort laughed again. "My, my, my. I had begun to think you might be too cowardly to use it when I returned it to you, Hermione, my friend."

Hermione narrowed her eyes on the wretched Lord of Darkness, struggling in Snape's hold and thoroughly furious, now.

"Are you going to keep up with this ridiculous charade much longer, or can we just get the bloody hell on with it, Tom?" she demanded, purposely choosing the boring and common name that Dumbledore insisted Voldemort hated.

"You wish to proceed to tonight's main event?" Voldemort asked, his smile slipping from his face and a wicked gleam coming into his red eyes. "So eager for your wedding, Miss Granger?"

"I recall reading that in order for a ceremony of binding magic to occur, both parties must willingly and of their own volition, enter into the agreement. How, might I ask, do you presume to force me to do this?" she demanded.

"Actually, if you read the fine print, you must only have chosen to be magically bound to your spouse of your own volition," Voldemort purred. "You'll be given a choice. You see, you can either marry Severus, or you can marry Antonin. You choose."

Hermione's face mottled with fury and she thought seriously about hexing herself to death.

"I was under the impression Snape would be choosing?" she countered, narrowing her eyes.

"He has chosen," Voldemort shrugged.

Snape's face twitched in a way that made her think he hadn't been consulted.

"And if I chose Dolohov, instead? Hermione demanded.

"Please do,  _Pchelka,"_  the Russian murmured, licking his lips wickedly.

Hermione paused in her writhing amid Snape's hold, realising Dolohov meant her harm at the very least.

"What? You want to fuck the little mudblood, too?" Hermione spat at him coldly.

"What makes you think I haven't already?" Dolohov asked. "You've spent the past three days unconscious and at my mercy, Granger."

A chill ran down Hermione's spine and she narrowed her eyes on him hatefully, clenching her pelvic floor and trying to figure out if she was sore down there as though she'd been recently engaging in coitus.

"And yet here I sit, unravaged," Hermione replied coldly when Bellatrix, Alecto, and a few of the men laughed cruelly.

"You think so?" Dolohov asked, raising his eyebrows at her, his eyes glinting with something dark and carnal that scared her.

"Well, if you did try anything then you must be extremely undersized because I can't feel a thing," Hermione replied acidly, and Dolohov lost his wicked smirk.

Voldemort chortled at her jab, looking entirely too thrilled for words at her reaction.

"It is such a shame about your blood, Miss Hermione Granger," he said softly. "You'd have made the most formidable witch among my forces were your blood pure."

"Then let it be known that I revel in my lowly, muddied blood, free of your allure," Hermione hissed before Snape pressed his fingers to her lips again, silencing her once more. She bit him for his trouble, though not hard enough to do more than smart.

"Free of my allure, but not my clutches, little mudblood. Who will it be? Shall you marry Severus, or Antonin?"

Hermione curled her lip furiously, intent on spitting more venom at the wretched wizard but the feel of Snape's hand gliding up her thigh before gripping hard, stopped her. She breathed out a slow, controlled breath, aware that her temper was sending crackles and sparkles of purple magic dancing through her curls and likely ruining her hairstyle. When she had mentally counted to ten, Hermione bit out her answer.

"Severus."

She wondered whether she should be relieved or terrified when Lord Voldemort grinned cruelly, as though all of his Christmases had come at once.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

Severus breathed a slow sigh of relief as the reckless little witch bit out his name. Not that he'd feared she would pick Dolohov, but because he'd been terrified she might get herself killed with her acid tongue and her sharp retorts before he could manage to pull her from the Dark Lord clutches.

"Excellent," the Dark Lord purred. "Rodolphus, Rabastan, send the families and sympathizers home. Ensure that those who've been promised the Mark remain – we'll make a fine Christmas gift of the ceremony. Everyone else, adjourn to Selwyn Hall so that the ritual may begin."

"What of me, my Lord?" Alecto Carrow simpered at the Dark Lord, frowning and obviously confused over why she'd been dressed up for a wedding when she hadn't been consulted or suggested as an option for him.

The Dark Lord turned to her with surprised eyes before he chortled and said, "Oh, did I forget to mention? Upon Severus's choice of the mudblood, your services are not required for his ritual."

"So, I am… off the hook?" Alecto asked, not daring to trust a hope.

"No," the Dark Lord smiled cruelly. "We'll be performing the Lordship Ceremony for Antonin tonight, too. The death of his father has left Dolohov Park without a proper Lord and it's high time Antonin was rewarded for his loyalty and service."

"My Lord?" Dolohov choked in horror, looking sideways at Alecto, who simpered with glee at the idea of marrying the Russian bastard. Severus could see that Antonin was wondering what he'd done wrong to have earned such a wretched fate.

"Smile, Antonin," the Dark Lord grinned mercilessly. "It's your wedding night."

He rose to his feet positively cackling with laughter, and Severus frowned, shaking his head as Antonin turned to Alecto with utter horror glittering in his eyes, apparently less than thrilled that he'd be her husband in short order.

Untangling his leg from around Granger's beneath the table, Severus rose to his feet quickly and offered the seething young witch his hand. Despite the mask he wore, and despite the circumstances that would soon make her his wife, the girl took it without a second of hesitation, lacing her fingers through his and gripping his hand so tightly that he feared she might maim him.

"Ah, Dolores," the Dark Lord could be heard saying as he made his way spryly toward the Entrance Hall, offering his elbow to the terrible toad-like witch ensconced in pink, and escorting her toward the door. "So good of you to join us. Tell me, are you ready to devote your life to my cause?"

"Oh, I am, my Lord," the bitch simpered, and Severus felt Granger squeeze his hand even tighter, pulling his arm ever so slightly when she dragged her feet, obviously trying to get him alone.

Severus shot her a quelling look, attempting to silently convey that he could not save her from her fate. Before the night was through she would be bound to him for all eternity as his wife and while he felt positively sick with the notion, there was nothing for it. To remove her from the Dark Lord's clutches now would be to sign his own death certificate. She narrowed her eyes on him before planting her feet, refusing to walk another step.

"Coming, Severus?" Lucius asked in a soft voice, seeing the girl's determination.

"Momentarily," Severus nodded at his best friend. "Keep the Dark Lord distracted a moment, would you?"

"And stray too close to that bloated pink bullfrog? I think not. I'm certain that Narcissa, Draco, and I are required and morally bound by host right to ensure all these fine people make their way home safely," Lucius smirked.

Severus's lips twitched at the excuse and watched the Malfoy family walk away before turning his gaze to Granger.

"I cannot rescue you, Miss Granger," he warned her quietly before she could even open her mouth. Her fingers were still tangled with his and she nodded, apparently unsurprised that there was nothing he could do to get her back to the Order before the Dark Lord had had his fun.

"Did he rape me? Can you use Legilimency to find out?" she asked, nodding in Dolohov's direction where the Russian was in the process of threatening Carrow at wand-point at the other end of the hall. Severus hesitated, frowning. Despite many an imagining, Severus hadn't picked up on any truth to the claim when Antonin had taunted her.

"I don't believe so," Severus said. "The Dark Lord meant to make a gift of you, to reward me. He would not allow his gift to be tainted, though he will revel if he knows the idea is tormenting you."

She breathed out again, slow and controlled even as more crackles of purple magic jumped through her curls. Severus suffered the strangest urge to try capturing one between his fingertips, wondering if it would sizzle like fire, or burn like the coldest ice.

"Is he going to force us to consummate the ceremony in front of them all?" she asked next, her tone tight and controlled, her expression blank as though she were running purely on the willpower to keep from exploding into what he did not doubt would be an impressive rage. He'd seen her lose her temper a time or two whilst in public at Hogwarts; he knew she was both capable of violence, and in possession of an extremely acid tongue when it suited her. "I wasn't permitted knickers under this wretched dress. Does he plan to make you fuck me while they watch?"

Severus raised his eyebrows, his eyes betraying him as they slid the length of her body, snug and decadent as it was inside her dress.

"Consummation is not customarily part of the Lordship ritual," he said carefully. "Though consummation is essential to bind the wedding ceremony before the Lordship magic can be ignited. Then again, he chose from witches whom I had already fucked when he sought a wife for me to avoid the need for pausing between the wedding ceremony and the Lordship ceremony for the sake of consummation… I cannot presume to say what the Dark Lord will do. He might find it entertaining to humiliate you in front of the brethren."

"Won't that be humiliating for you, too?" she asked.

Severus eyed her drolly, shaking his head slowly.

"It's not uncommon amongst the brethren to engage in… erm… group sex. The only member of the Death Eaters who hasn't seen me naked and fucking someone at least once is Draco. It would be inconvenient, but not all that humiliating for me."

"Delightful," Granger wrinkled her nose at him before she sighed softly, some of her anger seeming to drain away when he absently traced the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand, offering only a tight smile. "Would you prefer I choose Dolohov, Severus? I know you don't particularly like me, let alone fancy me enough to consider marrying me. I know you've attempted to distance yourself from me since shagging me because you're not interested in sparking anything romantic between us. If you'd prefer that I choose Dolohov to spare you, I will."

"And marry Alecto instead?" Severus scoffed. "The loosest witch amongst the brethren? There are any number of horrors I would consider before allowing myself to be tied to that psychotic trollop, Granger. Being married to you would not even register on the list of the much more horrible things I would do to avoid her."

She looked relieved, relaxing a little further. Severus supposed he couldn't blame her. She had been kidnapped and forced into her fancy dress, dragged before the brethren and handed over to him like a fine dessert on a silver platter. She had little say in this and she was far too young for marriage. She was only seventeen, Merlin curse it all! Severus gritted his teeth, looking away, unable to bare her look of relief at the idea that she'd been willing to risk giving herself to Dolohov, had he asked it of her, merely to spare him the mild inconvenience it would be to marry her.

Gryffindor bravery really did no know bounds, he mused, watching her trying to gather her thoughts. She'd have been brutally raped and tortured daily by Antonin, had she chosen him. The psychotic bastard would've revelled in tormenting her just to watch her writhe. Severus might be cold, cruel, wicked, Dark and utterly devoid of kindness, but at least he wouldn't physically break her. He had never allowed himself to emulate his father in that respect and he most certainly wasn't going to start with this delicate little witch who was so much fiercer than she knew. No, he might put her through enough mental anguish to land her in the padded rooms at St Mungo's, but Severus would never stoop so low as to lay an unkind hand on her.

"This is really happening, isn't it?" she asked in a small voice, her eyes searching his face worriedly. "I'm really about to marry you, even though you're my teacher, and everyone is going to flip their lids when they find out about this."

"They already know," Severus told her quietly, sliding his feet a little closer, closing the space between them until her chest almost brushed his. "I might've been vague enough to avoid specifics, but the Order is aware that you have been captured because you've been fucking me. The older members of the Order who know of the ritual are at home and terrified as we speak, wondering if I will be asked to marry you or murder you."

She paled considerably.

"Did they… take it well?" she asked, her voice squeaky.

Severus curled his lip silently and she closed her eyes, not needing him to verbalise their horror.

"You had already informed Weasley," he said, recalling the threat the younger wizard had made.

"Oh, Merlin, what did he say to you?" she asked, her eyes springing open in horror.

"That we both knew why you had been captured and how I might get you out of here, and how he would make the depraved acts of the brethren look like child's play in comparison to what he plans to do to me should I return you to them in less than perfect condition," Severus drawled smugly in retort, enjoying the way her eyes widened.

"How badly did you hurt him?" she asked, apparently knowing him well.

"I managed to keep myself from doing no more than shoving him off me before sneering in their faces that you beg like an angel."

She swatted his chest reproachfully, her cheeks flushing crimson.

"Snape!" she hissed. "How could you? As though all of this isn't awkward enough, you had to reveal  _that_  little gem?"

"I don't often make it a habit of accepting criticism regarding my…ability to attract a witch," Severus said, shrugging unrepentantly. "Potter seemed to doubt my ability to lure you into my bed of your own free will."

"Well, since you're about to become my husband, you better just stop attracting any other witches who aren't me or  _I'll_  be the one making Death Eater depravity look tame," she said contrarily, and Severus couldn't entirely hold back his wicked little chuckle of amusement.

"You presume to tell me whom I can and can't fuck?" he asked, raising one eyebrow in challenge just to watch her narrow those cinnamon eyes on him hatefully.

"You presume I won't pick Dolohov instead and force you to marry Carrow if you're going to be a philanderer?" she challenged.

"You imagine  _he_  would be faithful?" Severus scoffed, narrowing his eyes on the witch.

She rolled her eyes at him. "I wouldn't want  _him_  to be faithful," she said, before clapping her hand over her mouth when she realised what she'd said.

Severus smirked wickedly at her, smug in the knowledge that she obviously cared just who he was fucking and didn't like the idea of it being anyone other than her.

"Possessive, are you?" he taunted, feeling his cock twitch when she narrowed her eyes at him, apparently mortified.

"Yes," she admitted bravely.

He didn't know why, but the bravery of her admission, and indeed, her apparent fondness that suggested she'd like to keep him all to herself pleased Severus. He was going to have entirely too much fun breaking her.

"Good," he said. "I am the same."

She smiled just a little bit and Severus shook his head, his lips twitching in amusement.

"Right," she said. "Well, since we're about to get married… Erm… I'm Hermione Jean Granger. I'm the only daughter of Jean Stanton and Arnold Granger. Born September 19th, 1979 and raised in Sutton. I'm a Gryffindor. I'm seventeen. I'm a bookish little know-it-all who owns a large, fluffy orange cat and enough books to rekindle the fires of every witch-burning recorded in history in a single sitting… Erm…I knit in my free time, sometimes. I love my parents. I have two doltish male best friends, and am probably too smart for my own good."

She smiled nervously, and Severus could feel that she was trembling. Her attempt at a crash-course introduction amused him more than it ought and despite the ridiculousness of it all, he responded in kind.

"Severus Tobias Snape. Born January 9th, 1960 in Spinner's End, Cokeworth. Only surviving son of Tobias Snape and Eileen Prince. I was in Slytherin whilst at Hogwarts. I'm thirty-six years old. I'm a Death Eater and a Hogwarts Professor. I am also bookish and a know-it-all, and I don't have the time or the patience for familiars. My closest friends are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and I am the godfather of their son, Draco. I am a qualified Potions Master, a Legilimens, and a member of the Potioneers Guild of Great Britain. Soon to be Lord of Selwyn Hall and husband of Hermione Granger."

She nodded, her smile faltering a little as her lower lip trembled with nerves. Severus eyed her, watching her reactions and her emotions as they flitted across her face. Like an open book he could read at will, she detailed her every worry without saying a word.

"Are we going to be tortured?" she asked in a whisper, her voice tight.

"No," Severus shook his head. "The ritual is barbaric, but not for the participants. You and I will be required to… share the murder of the Dark Lord's chosen sacrifice… but there should be no torture. At least none outside that of mental torment over taking a life, and the rip to one's soul from the act."

"Do you know who he's chosen?" she asked him, her brow furrowing further.

Severus nodded.

"Someone I believe that even  _you_  will find easy to kill, Miss Granger," Severus said softly. "Now, if you are ready, we had best be going. The Dark Lord is not a patient wizard and we are, after all, the guests of honour this evening."

"If this is honour, then dishonour me any time," she muttered, and Severus fixed her a wicked little smirk.

"Oh, I plan to," he promised quietly and for the briefest moment heat and amusement glittered in her eyes before she recalled that she would soon be forced to become his wife.

"Good," she said boldly, nodding her head. "Well, I suppose there's nothing for it. Erm… do  _try_  to refrain from unleashing all that bottled-up fury on me too often, won't you?"

"What is a wife for if not to endure the very blackest of moods?" Severus drawled, smirking at her.

"I wasn't aware your moods had another shade," she retorted defiantly, and Severus chuckled, surprised she was able to even think clearly with what she'd endured and what she would face, let alone being able to tease him.

Squeezing the hand clutching his own, Severus slid his feet just a little bit closer before raising his eyebrows at her, waiting to see if she was ready to apparate.

"Can you apparate from inside the Manor?" she asked, frowning.

"I have special privileges," he grinned at her. "Perks of being Godfather to Draco."

"The only perk, I imagine," she said snidely, and Severus was laughing as he twisted sharply, Disapparating them both to Selwyn Hall with a sharp crack.

"Come now," he told her when they'd landed, heedless of the audience awaiting them. "You're about to become his godmother by default. Is that any way to talk about the boy?"

"First of all, he's only about nine months younger than me," she pointed out. "And secondly, he sold me out. Technically my future-godson or not, he can go jump in the lake."

Severus knew everyone was listening to them as they spoke, most with eyes that glinted keen interest to see that the girl was obviously unafraid of him. Her apparent ease in his presence confused many of them, he knew. He might scare the daylights out of his students at Hogwarts, but his fellow Death Eaters didn't scare so easily, yet more than half of them were terrified of him. He was a man with nothing to lose and he was as ruthless and cruel as he was quick-witted. That the girl would so defiantly insult his godson  _and_  call attention to their age difference suggested her complete lack of fear for him.

Dressed as he was, in his Death Eater robes and with his mask fixed firmly to his face, he knew he was a scary sight. Yet the little swot had no fear of him. Not even in the face of being forced to wed him. She hadn't openly protested the union, and he didn't think she would. Whether it was because she was smart enough to see that there was no other option that wouldn't get them both killed, or if it was because she simply didn't mind who she had to marry, as long as it wasn't Dolohov, Severus didn't know.

"By all mean,  _please_  draw attention to the twenty-year age gap between the two of us moments before we take our vows and bind our magic," he drawled, something inside him twisting at the thought of what was to come and the way the world would react when they knew about this.

He almost choked on his tongue when she reached out and smoothed a soothing hand over his chest above his heart, rolling her eyes at his blackening mood.

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "It's only nineteen years, not a hundred. Now, if you were as old as Dumbledore… well, to be honest, I'd have been impressed that you'd gotten it up and thus, landed me in this position to begin with."

Severus snorted, listening to a few of the brethren snigger in amusement despite themselves. How she could be making jokes when she ought to be terrified and crying in protest was beyond him and the rest of the brethren, he was sure. Perhaps those wicked little fantasises about him that she so often entertained had sparked some unfortunate attraction to him within her. Merlin, he hoped the witch wasn't fool enough to actually fancy him. That would be unfortunate, indeed. Unfortunate, and unrequited.

"Remind me not to look to you for compliments, witch," Severus said dryly.

"What?" she asked, smirking. "That  _was_  a compliment. I called you young and virile. Every man's dream, no?"

"Most of us tend to dream more carnal things than youth," Severus said.

"Rubbish," she said. "Is there a wizard here who wouldn't revel in luring a witch, twenty years his junior, to his bed?" she asked, and a few of the brethren smirked.

"One," Severus said imperiously.

"Don't pretend you didn't revel in it, Snape," she chided, smirking at him now. "I was there. I saw you."

"Perhaps I'm a skilled actor."

"Or deluded," she offered, and Lucius snorted behind him to hear her so bluntly insult him.

"I am not above punishing you, Miss Granger," Severus warned her, his lips twitching.

"More detention?" she asked, her eyes glittering wickedly.

"I was envisioning a spanking," Severus replied, smirking.

She didn't even bat an eye, her cheeks remaining decidedly un-pinked as she shrugged her slim shoulders and said, "I'll let you borrow my paddle, if you like? It's got studs."

Severus's cock twitched when she smirked in return before releasing his hand and walking across the expanse of undisturbed snow upon the grounds of Selwyn Hall to stand before the Dark Lord, defiantly lifting her chin and just  _daring_  them all to test her mettle. He hated himself for the way he watched her, the bright silver gleam of her dress seeming to glow in the blackness of the night. She held her wand loosely in her right hand, and despite the cold wind that blew to kiss the bare expanse of her delicate throat, she didn't shiver. She looked the picture of Light and goodness and innocence, but Severus had traced his magic over every inch of hers. He knew that though she wasn't yet infected with the Darkness, she had a capacity for Dark as deep and as terrible as his own.

He knew he could thoroughly corrupt the little witch and his cock twitched again at the very thought of doing so. She was about to become his wife. Legally and magically bound to him for all of eternity and he could treat her as he pleased. He could lure her to the Darkness and infest her soul with it as surely as he'd infested his own. He could watch her crumble into a million tiny pieces, only to build her up and watch her shatter again and again.

He had never envisioned himself marrying. Truthfully, he'd imagined that the quest to end the war might cost his life, and he'd made peace with that. Severus loathed that as he followed her across the snow to stand before the Dark Lord, a lick of anticipation and dark amusement flittered through him. He would revel in the horror the Order would feel when their relief wore off and she was returned to them, bound to their least favourite member in matrimony and in magic.

"No tears, Miss Granger?" the Dark Lord asked softly when they both stood before him, flanked on all sides by the brethren. Lucius stood at his back, close enough to touch and as the girl shook her head, Severus felt Lucius press a hand to the middle of his back, offering comfort, knowing he'd never planned on taking a wife. He'd intended his father's wretched surname to die with him, and yet here he stood, poised to give the wretched thing to so bright and brilliant a witch.

"How disappointing," the Dark Lord drawled, seeming genuinely saddened that she wasn't going to cry. "But then, this is a happy occasion, no? Did you ever envision your wedding would look quite like this?"

Severus watched as Hermione took her eyes off the Dark Lord, tracing them over the faces of the brethren, all concealed behind their masks, all of them dressed in black, encircling her where she stood with him. They were all silent, though many were smirking and sneering at her. When she lifted her cinnamon eyes to meet his own behind his mark, Severus watched her widen them, inviting him to invade her mind if he wished.

"Once," she admitted, nodding her head.

"Indeed?" the Dark Lord asked, and Severus couldn't resist the urge to slip into her mind, finding himself inside a daydream, or perhaps it was a nightmare. He sensed the Dark Lord's presence, too, there inside her head, witnessing the same thing.

In her head, the imagining was eerily similar to their current surroundings, though in the daydream there was blood on the snow. The setting was the same. A snowy landscape amid the darkness and herself in a torn white dress that bore bloodstains down the front. He stood beside her in her daydream, too, his mask in place – though it, too, was bloodied – and his expression sour.

"You have an interesting imagination, my friend," the Dark Lord told her when he withdrew from her mind and Severus followed suit.

Hermione didn't answer. She didn't take her eyes off him, either. Severus held her gaze, looking down his nose at her. He didn't doubt that to the brethren she probably looked terrified while he looked annoyed and mildly disgusted. But they couldn't see her eyes. Those chocolate pools swirled with a thousand emotions she hadn't voiced or allowed herself to express, and he could see that she was everything from horrified and terrified, to utterly elated. Aroused. Excited. Scared. Nervous. Anxious. Angry. Happy. She felt it all and she didn't know what to do with it. She wasn't afraid of him, Severus could tell. She wasn't even really afraid that the brethren might all see her naked if he had to fuck her before them, nor was she scared to be married, or of how her friends and family would react when they found out. She didn't fear that the Dark Lord would torture her any longer. Severus could see it in her eyes and sense it in her mind that she'd gone beyond those fears. No, there was only one thought filling her head, now.

She was afraid of herself. Afraid of what she might become when those whispers of excitement and shadows and darkness began suffusing her magic. She was afraid of how much she longed to go through with the ceremony, and Severus was shocked to find that despite the amount of blood and horror that seemed to infuse her daydream of a moment like this, she hadn't feared it. She'd been intrigued by the idea since she'd had that daydream, and here it was, a reality.

"You will not enjoy being my wife, Miss Granger," he informed her coldly, knowing he still had a part to play.

Her lips twisted into a cruel smile that he'd arranged upon his own face many times and Severus almost snatched her away and took her home before this farce could play out when she spoke.

"You're wrong," she said, speaking so softly he might've only imagined that she'd spoken at all had he not seen her lips move.

"Enjoyment or not, you  _will_  be married," the Dark Lord said, seeming more annoyed by the second that she wasn't a sobbing mess. "Join hands."

She didn't hesitate as she faced him fully, lifting her hands and holding them out to him. Severus eyed them for a long moment before lifting his own hands. He curled his wand-hand around her delicate wrist – so slim and fragile he felt he could break the bones with a mere flick of his arm. They inter-crossed their arms, his left hand holding her left, and his right holding her right. Severus could feel the thrum of her pulse in her veins under his fingers and he could feel the familiar brush of her magic along his own.

"And now, the vows," the Dark Lord said, flicking his wand and casting the spell to form an Unbreakable Vow.

Severus knew it would be up to him to word this carefully, to ensure that the Dark Lord would be pleased, and would allow for this to continue, without ruining both of their lives or vowing anything he couldn't keep. The girl didn't flinch as she held his gaze when the first tendrils of the spell traced over their joined wrists. The magic seared and tingled strangely.

"I, Severus Tobias Snape, take you, Hermione Jean Granger, to by my lawfully wedded and magically bound wife," he drawled. "In sickness and in health. For richer, or poorer. For better or worse. To have and to hold, and to protect to the best of my ability. I vow to care for you when you are unable to care for yourself, and to help you up when you fall. I vow to correct you when you are wrong, to guide you when you are lost, and to comfort you when you are down."

He paused to take a breath, watching the tendrils of magic curl around their joined hands and feeling his own magic beginning to weave through hers. She never took her eyes off him, her breath coming a little faster despite the dispassionate way he listed off his vows. Before he could continue, the Dark Lord interrupted.

"Do you, Severus, vow to care for Hermione and any children you both might have?" he asked, and Severus felt a chill run down his spine.

"I do," he vowed.

"Do you vow to corrupt Hermione until she is as depraved and as wicked as you?" the Dark Lord asked, smirking.

Severus's gut clenched, suspecting the Dark Lord had plucked that thought right out of his head.

"I do," he breathed, watching the girl's eyes widen slightly when he accompanied the vow with a push of his magic against hers. "With this ring I take you, Hermione, as my wife for all of our days, until death do us part."

The girl gasped when, from the very fabric of his magic, he forged a wedding band that encircled her dainty finger, snug and immovable. He accompanied the gesture with a stab of his magic into hers and she trembled as his magic impaled her own.

"And you, Miss Granger?" the Dark Lord asked.

She bit her lip for a moment, blinking slowly as she gathered her thoughts and her courage.

"I, Hermione Jean Granger, take you, Severus Tobias Snape, to be my lawfully wedded and magically bound husband. For better or worse. In sickness and in health. For richer or poorer. For Lighter, or Darker. I vow to protect you when you require it, to comfort you when you are down, to support you when you are challenged, and to tolerate you even when you are unbearable. I solemnly promise to remind you of your humanity when it evades you, and to correct you when you are wrong. I swear to heal you when you are injured, to hold you even when you are wrathful, and to love you even when you are hateful."

Severus's eyes widened in shock at her words, not having expected her to use the dreaded 'L' word. She shoved her own magic at him and Severus twitched, the tendrils of magic streaming about their joined hands so brightly that they lit up the night. The Dark Lord interrupted before she could continue, just as he'd done to Severus.

"Do you, Hermione, vow to care for Severus and any children he might sire with you?" he asked.

She gulped audibly before she nodded. "I do."

"Do you vow that your body, henceforth will be shared with none but Severus, excepting those instances when you carry his children, until death do you part?"

Severus blinked, unable to tear his eyes from the witch, no matter how much he wanted to stare at the Dark Lord, wide-eyed, wondering what he was up to and why he might include such a clause as to prevent her from fucking anyone else but him. Hermione's brow furrowed, obviously confused by the vow as well, but she made it.

"I do," she breathed, nodding slowly, curling her magic around and around the spike of his magic within her. "With this ring, I thee wed, until death do us part."

Severus's breath caught inside his chest and he closed his eyes when her magic rushed right through him, encircling his ring-finger and leaving a bright gold band behind, before she twisted her magic inside of him, stabbing it into him with all the viciousness of an assassin. His knees almost buckled at the power of it when she somehow made that shard of ice shatter within him, her magic settling inside his own like a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow.

"By the power vested in me as the Dark Lord, I now pronounce you man and wife," the Dark Lord purred. "Severus, my friend, kiss your bride."

Severus's stomach clenched, and he frowned, breaking his stare with the young witch – his wife – to look to the Dark Lord in confusion. He hadn't kissed anyone in twenty-one years. Kissing would be a disaster. He'd sworn he would never again open his heart to love via a kiss. The Dark Lord eyed him expectantly, obviously knowing he didn't want to kiss the girl, but expecting it. He hadn't made it a request, or a suggestion. It was a command

When he looked back at the girl before him, she watched him, obviously seeing his confliction. Before he could even begin to attempt snogging her, she pulled her hands from his grip and very carefully reached for his face. The brethren watched with baited breath, all of them aware of his hang-up about snogging.

Severus blinked in shock when rather than touching his skin, Hermione caught hold of his Death Eater mask. She moaned as she touched it, the effect of the curses upon it affecting her immediately. Severus hissed, trying to pull back, but as he did the mask slipped from his face, leaving it bare. The strings of the mask slid through her fingers before she dropped it into the snow at their feet, her breath coming in sharp little gasps as she stepped closer, closing the distance between the two of them. Severus stood frozen, his heart racing inside his chest as the brave little witch traced her fingertips along his jaw, rising up on her toes and leaning toward him.

She tangled her free hand into his loose hair and pulled him down just a little, her eyes dancing over his face before focusing on his lips. Severus thought about pulling away, but before he could, she brushed her lips over his gently. They tingled, and a little shiver ran through him as she did it again, carefully pressing her lips to his as though she feared he might bite her or just that he would pull away.

When she began to withdraw after a few short seconds, his arms looped around her slim waist, unbidden, and Severus leaned into her, claiming her lips as he couldn't ever remember doing to a witch. She squeaked in surprise and he almost pulled away as her lips parted before he darted his tongue into her mouth, touching it to hers for the first time. She tasted like the dessert they'd eaten at Malfoy Manor and she sighed in his grip, curling one arm around the back of his neck while she scraped her nails against his scalp gently, leaning into the kiss, her tongue gliding against his.

It was clear to him that she, at least, knew what she was doing, and Severus let her lead the kiss after that, simply enjoying the feel of her tongue against his and the press of her lips against his own. His arms tightened around her slender frame until she was plastered against him in a most inappropriate manner and he almost forgot that they stood in the presence of the Dark Lord and his fellow Death Eaters.

At least, he did until the Dark Lord's terrible laugh rattled like dry bones and he jerked back from Granger in surprise. The witch squeaked in protest before her hands tightened to fists, one in his hair and the other in his robes as he lowered her back to stand on her own two feet without leaning into him.

"Ah, Severus," the Dark Lord smiled when Severus turned to look at him, awaiting instruction and trying to ignore the uneven kick of his heart in his chest. "You don't know how it pleases me to see you married, my friend."

"My Lord," Severus bowed his head deferentially.

"And now that you are man and wife, let us make you Lord and Lady of Selwyn Hall, shall we?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"Excellent. Antonin, the sacrifice, if you will?"

Severus glanced down at the little witch beside him when he felt a tiny, cold hand, slip inside his own. She interlaced her fingers with his and he could feel her trembling as she stood there, terrified by what was to come and the murder she would soon be forced to commit.

"With pleasure, my Lord," Antonin smirked before he settled a cruel hand on the back of Dolores Umbridge's neck and guided her forward.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

"My Lord?" Dolores Umbridge squeaked. "Surely, you don't mean… but my Lord, I've been so loyal to you!"

Hermione closed her eyes as the wretched witch began to protest, realising that Snape had been right. If ever there was a witch that she would revel in murdering, it was Umbridge, and it looked like that was the Dark Lord's plan. She trembled where she stood, loathing the sparkles of darkness filling her up as the sound of a scuffle followed.

"You said you were willing to dedicate your life to my cause, Dolores," Lord Voldemort said cruelly, laughing as though her attempts to escape were amusing.

"You said you'd give me the Dark Mark," the witch protested shrilly.

"I don't recall ever saying that," Voldemort laughed. "You merely assumed, Dolores. And you know what they say about assumptions, no?"

A pathetic and terrified sob tore from Umbridge's throat and it was a sound Hermione had heard before, when she and Harry had handed the woman off to the Centaurs last June.

"Severus, please," she begged. "You can't let him kill me!"

Hermione opened her eyes as her husband laughed just as cruelly as the Dark Lord had done.

"The Dark Lord isn't going to kill you, Umbridge," he drawled, sounding positively wicked. "We are."

Hermione met Umbridge's eyes coldly.

"You vile little mudblood  _bitch_!" Umbridge hissed when Hermione made no move to help her. The woman knew better than to beg for help from her, it seemed. After all, the last time she'd tried it, Hermione had let the wretched bitch be carried off and raped by centaurs.

"That's hardly polite, Madam Undersecretary," Hermione said quietly.

"You will pay for this. The Ministry will lock you in Azkaban and you'll spend your days sobbing and mad in a corner," Umbridge swore.

Hermione laughed, holding her gaze and staring her down.

"Oh, but Dolores," she drawled. "What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him, remember? Did you forget that the Ministry is poised to fall under Lord Voldemort's command? Do you  _really_ think I'll be prosecuted for doing his bidding here this evening?"

"Dumbledore and your precious Order will cast you out for the no good, murderous, wretched little slut you are when they find out about this!" the woman sneered, fighting and writhing in Dolohov's grip.

"Perhaps they will," Hermione nodded her head. "But somehow, I doubt any of them will do so in mourning of your loss."

Ugly splotches of colour appeared on the woman's pouchy cheeks and she screwed up her eyes as she shrieked in fury, attempting to fling herself at Hermione, hands gnarled like she wanted to claw her eyes out. Hermione didn't flinch, watching her flail in mid-air for a moment before overbalancing to land in the snow when Dolohov didn't release his hold on her throat.

The gathered Death Eaters all laughed cruelly, none of them making any move to help the vile woman while she sobbed in the snow. Dolohov had taken her wand when he'd grabbed her, Hermione noticed, spying the stubby, gnarled thing where it had been tossed carelessly in the snow.

"Bella, the dagger, if you please?" Voldemort said, and Hermione tightened her grip on Snape's hand as Bellatrix moved forward, pulling a dagger from somewhere and handing it over, hilt-first, to Voldemort.

Her heart was racing inside her chest and she could feel Snape's magic writhing beneath her skin alongside her own. She could still feel the tingling tendrils of the spell that bound them in matrimony, and Hermione was terrified of the Darkness about to worm its way into her soul.

"Severus, Hermione, kneel," Voldemort commanded.

Severus did it without hesitation, lowering himself to kneel in the snow before the evillest man alive as though he were a revered God, and Hermione had no choice but follow him down, kneeling beside him in the snow. He shook her hand loose of his own, and Hermione watched him hold his wand arm out before his Dark Lord, humbly awaiting whatever he might do. Voldemort smirked before slicing open Severus's sleeve and digging the knife-edge into his pale flesh, though in happiness at his servant's supplication, or just with the wickedness of someone so twisted, Hermione wasn't sure. He drew the blade over Snape's wrist vertically, spilling his blood and watching it run over Snape's pale skin to coat the blade and drip into the snow at his feet. When he turned to her, the knife gleaming with the many faint balls of Lumos light from the wands of gathered Death Eaters, he looked even more unsettling than usual. His red eyes seemed to positively glow in the darkness and the translucent quality of his flesh made him look like something out of Hermione's worst nightmares. The idea of baring her wrist to such a monster was paralysing, and her heart was racing with fear, her muscles jumping with the overpowering urge to jump up and make a run for it, or at the very least, the attempt to Apparate.

As though he could sense her flightiness, Lord Voldemort reached for her with one skeletal hand, and Hermione shuddered when he trailed the tips of his fingers over her cold cheek. He seemed almost fascinated, just daring her to make a run for it, or to lunge for the dagger. His defiant gaze  _dared_ her save herself from what she was about to do – what she was about to become and Hermione knew it brought him pleasure when she jerked slightly under his fingertips, jolting with the need to run, her thoughts warring over what might happen to her, and what might happen to Snape, should she attempt to escape and fail. His lips pulled into a wide smile when Hermione carefully breathed out, controlling the urge to flee and forcing herself to submit. Voldemort gave a low chuckle before raising his eyebrows at her, waiting for her to offer him her wrist.

Hermione wanted to run away.

"Your wrist, Madam Snape," Voldemort said when she stared at him. He no longer looking amused, instead growing impatient with her defiance.

Hermione balked at the address so much that her arm jerked up automatically, and Voldemort vindictively dug the dagger into her skin, slicing it open and watching the blood spill. Fat droplets welled and turned to little rivulets that flowed over her skin and dripped into the snow. Before she could register the pain of the cut, Snape took her hand, turning it inside his own and pressing his cut to hers, mingling their blood together. Magic rushed over her, thick and heady, and she felt the same terrible and alluring darkness that infected his magic and his blood flitter into herself, filling her up and staining her soul as surely as black ink spilled on fresh white linen.

Hermione moaned softly, feeling their blood and their magic mingle, forming a blood-bond and linking them even more closely than as husband and wife. It was heady and seductive, making her heart race and her body thrum with delight. When Snape guided their joined hands to the ground, Hermione opened her eyes once more, watching as he pushed their hands through the thick layer of snow upon the ground until they reached the earth beneath it. A throb of magic from the earth rushed through her and Hermione moaned again, pushing back instinctively with her own magic. She felt Snape's magic flare, too, racing against hers, interweaving and tangling before he directed it into the earth.

The ground beneath them shuddered and Hermione felt a wicked sense of rightness when her magic throbbed again, feeling the pull of the telluric currents beneath the ground and sensing the full extent of the land belonging to Selwyn Hall. She could feel that the Earth was hungry for her blood and the magic that pulsed within her soul.

"Rise," Voldemort said, and without thought, Hermione did as she was bid, her bleeding wrist still pressed to Snape's.

Voldemort offered Snape the knife when they stood before him and Severus took it carefully.

"You know the ritual, Severus," Voldemort said when Severus glanced at her, and Hermione raised her eyebrows, realising he was thinking of taking Umbridge's life alone, as though he might spare her from the alluring Darkness of murder.

Snape nodded tightly, holding his free arm out to her in silence. His expression invited her in and Hermione found her feet moving, unbidden, until she stood within his embrace. He looped his arm around her middle carefully, turning her body until she stood before him with her back pressed to his chest. She could feel the straining bulge in his trousers rubbing against her bottom through the clothing the both wore as he curled his arms around her carefully, offering her the hilt of the dagger.

Hermione hesitated, fear coiling through her blood and making her dizzy. When she didn't immediately take the dagger, Snape's free hand traced up the length of her body, his fingertips dancing over the valley between her breasts before skimming up the length of her throat until he cupped her jaw. She quivered in his arms when he gently turned her head to meet his gaze over her shoulder.

His dark eyes glittered with warning and lust. Hermione recognised in an instant that he was trying to convey that she had no choice but to take the dagger. Voldemort would force her hand if she didn't do it of her own volition. Hermione trembled when she caught the terrible darkness within him pulsing and quivering with the urge to take Umbridge's life. She could see it glittering lustfully in his eyes. He  _wanted_  this. He  _wanted_  to kill the witch. He revelled in the way she'd begun to sob and cry where Dolohov had pinned her. Maybe he even wanted Hermione to help him take Umbridge's life.

She could feel his arousal against her backside, and she could sense the darkness inside of him as it frolicked, unchecked. And he meant to infect her with that same darkness. He'd vowed he would, and if he didn't, he would die. Hermione gulped, her knees beginning to knock together. She might hate Umbridge, and wish terrible things upon her, but she didn't know if she could do it.

Could she take the dagger and wield it? Could she commit murder in cold blood while the pathetic woman sobbed and wriggled in Antonin Dolohov's tight grip. She knelt like a pig chained for slaughter, the wretched pink shades she garbed herself in lending to the imagery and making Hermione wish she'd never even been born a witch, for one terrible moment.

Snape's fingers were light upon her skin and he surprised her when he leaned down a little, pressing his lips to hers briefly and stealing some of her fear, replacing it with tingles of delight.

"Take the dagger, Hermione," he commanded softly when he pulled away, his voice husky and intimate, meant for her ears alone. It unnerved her how positively reasonable and kind he sounded. She was sure that if he spent more time using that tone when reasoning with his students, they'd all call him their favourite teacher. Quivering in his hold just a little, her lips tingling from his kiss and her heart kicking out an uneven beat against her ribcage, Hermione did as she was told.

She curled her fingers around the handle, feeling the Darkness and the bloodlust of the dagger, itself, as she touched it. She almost dropped it in fear, but before she could, Snape curled his hand around hers, his large hand encircling her small one, fingers brushing her skin and the dagger, both.

"You know the words?" he murmured, his lips by her ear.

Hermione nodded numbly, having learned about Lordship ceremonies in History of Magic during her fifth year when they'd finally moved on from Goblin Wars.

"Say them," Severus said, his lips brushing her earlobe and making her body clench needily.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Hermione opened her mouth and spoke the ritualistic words, listening to Snape recite them alongside her, his silken voice like the purest sin, filling her mind.

_"_ _Leis an fhuil agus an ìobairt seo, agus an draoidheachd annam, tha mi a 'tagradh tighearnas nan tìrean sin._ _"_

As they spoke the last word, Snape guided her hand upon the dagger, closing the distance between them and Umbridge. The first slash opened the robe the witch wore and scored the flesh of her chest and her belly. Umbridge screamed, but the magic had ensnared her by then, and so Hermione barely heard the shrill cries of protest. Methodically, his hand guiding the blade, Severus and Hermione cut open Dolores Umbridge's robes, before opening her flesh. Hermione felt the terrible throbs of magic pulsing through her as, together, they plunged the blade into her diaphragm.

Driving the dagger into the flesh, Snape curled his hand around her free hand too, and Hermione watched in horror and terrible schadenfreude as he guided their hands to powerfully and forcefully crack open the woman's ribcage, magic guiding their strength and breaking her sternum with as much ease as snapping a biscuit.

Umbridge gurgled out a scream as Dolohov held her still. Severus guided the dagger to hack her lungs out of the way when they'd opened her ribcage like terrible red and white bars of a cell guarding the wildly racing heart inside her chest. Hermione could feel her magic pulsing through the ground, through Severus, through the blade. A flick of the dagger severed the arteries that led to the madly thumping organ and Umbridge's screams ended as, together, they cut the heart from her chest.

Blood stained the dagger and their skin as Snape guided the blade with one more wicked twist to Umbridge's throat. He reached for Hermione's chin with his bloodied free hand and turned her head, claiming her lips again as he twitched the knife, slashing the witch's throat and ending her life.

Magic exploded through her as Hermione's free hand clenched around the heart they'd cut from Umbridge's chest, her tongue tangled with Severus's and her whole body pulsing and throbbing.

When he pulled away, he was breathing hard and his eyes were wild with lust and the thrill of the kill, and Hermione knew hers were, too.

_"_ _Leis an fhuil agus an ìobairt seo, agus an draoidheachd annam, tha mi a 'tagradh tighearnas nan tìrean sin_ _,"_  he repeated hoarsely, invoking the spell.

_"_ _Leis an fhuil agus an ìobairt seo, agus an draoidheachd annam, tha mi a 'tagradh tighearnas nan tìrean sin._ _"_ Hermione mimicked breathlessly, the spell ending on a cry as Darkness invaded the new rip in her soul and magic exploded through her and through Severus, rushing through the Earth beneath their feet and lighting up the telluric currents that ran through the property of Selwyn Hall, tying their magic and their blood to the land as they claimed lordship of it.

Purple and green magic lit up their skin and the night sky, illuminating the cheering gathered Death Eaters against the snow and casting terrifying shadows over the Dark Lord as he smiled widely and began to laugh his terrible, death-rattle laugh that set Hermione's teeth on edge. She dropped the heart and the dagger in the snow, forgotten as the magic pulsed through her core. Turning in Snape's hold, Hermione tangled her bloodied hands into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers, claiming his lips for an intoxicating kiss.

He snogged her hotly, his lips and his tongue laying claim to hers while her thoughts whirled in a wild inferno of lust and joy and pure magic. She stopped caring about the other Death Eaters or the Dark Lord as Snape's hands slid under her arse, lifting her until she could wrap her legs around his slim waist. Her body pulsed and thrummed with need, her heart racing inside her chest, and the place between her legs throbbing with the urge to be filled. His belt buckle was cold against her core when he ground against her, as caught in the arousal and the unrelenting urge to fuck as she was.

When he lowered her into the snow a short way from the grisly scene of their slaughter, Hermione was mindless with lust. The skirts of her dress were ruffled, but unmarked thanks to her repelling charms. He shoved them aside with ease, his hands unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers. Hermione couldn't have said if they had an audience by the time he thrust inside her.

She couldn't think, let alone see to know if anyone watched him fuck her right there in the snow. The feel of him impaling her on his glorious cock made her clench with delight and Hermione pulled him down on top of her, immune to the cold of the snow she lay in.

"Fuck," she heard Severus curse by her ear before he latched onto her throat, suckling her delicate flesh and making her writhe as he ground into her hard.

He set a hard pace, his hands tangling with hers in the snow, pinning them above her head as he fucked her. He was so warm, and it felt so good that Hermione couldn't even catch her breath. She was alive with magic and firing synapses and all she could see was Severus Snape and all she could feel was his magic so gloriously tangled with her own. She clamped around him tightly, her body taut with need and thrumming with energy and already on the brink of shattering into a million tiny pieces.

Adrenaline coursed through her, making her dizzy and she nipped his neck and his jaw, mewling with the building pressure deep inside of her that threatened to snap free. He fucked her harder with every clamp of her body around him.

"Fucking hell," she heard him mutter. "So fucking tight. So good."

Hermione sobbed when he curled one of her legs up over his shoulder, altering the angle as he drilled into her.

"Oh, gods, Severus!" she cried out, her head tossing from side to side, her body arching under his as everything pulled taut before it snapped free.

Hermione screamed with the release as the waves of pleasure crashed over her, magic and happiness and something terrible and Dark filling her to the brim and exploding free. The earth beneath them pulsed with it and Snape cursed foully, his hips jerking before he hissed in a breath, dragged into orgasm along with her. His hands tightened around hers and his cock twitched deep inside her before his seed spilled free, filling her and making her groan.

He collapsed on top of her when he was done, and Hermione breathed heavily, trying to catch her breath and trying to think straight. He wasn't heavy enough to crush her, but she could feel the snow soaking into her dress and Hermione squirmed under him as the cold seeped into her skin.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked quietly, his breath puffing softly against the side of her neck.

"No," Hermione whispered. "It's just really cold in this snow when I'm wearing strappy heels, no knickers, and no cloak."

Releasing her hands slowly, he lifted himself off her until he loomed over her, peering into her face curiously.

"Are we alone?" she asked, not daring to take her eyes from his face, fearful of finding the other Death Eaters all watching her.

"Not exactly," Snape said, his lips twisting when his eyes darted up to survey their surroundings. "The brethren are gone. The Dark Lord ordered them to Dolohov Park to begin Antonin's Lordship ritual. But there was a small mess to clean up here."

Hermione frowned in confusion, her brain foggy with the intensity of the magic they'd made and the haze of recent orgasm, and Snape nodded toward something to her left. Turning her head carefully, Hermione squinted in the dark, realizing that he was referring to the bloodied and broken body of Umbridge where it had fallen after they'd taken her life. Shapes moved in the darkness around the remains and Hermione frowned until one of the shapes moved far enough to reveal eerily glowing eyes of yellow and green.

Werewolves.

"Are they… transformed?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"Greyback's newest trick. He no longer needs the moon to force the change in his Pack," Snape said quietly. "They're cleaning up the mess we made."

"Is he with them?" Hermione asked fearfully.

Snape's mouth twisted as he lifted himself off of her and offered her a hand up. Hermione took it gratefully, watching him tuck himself back into his trousers while she fixed her skirts.

"Don't scream," he warned softly before turning her with gentle hands on her shoulders. Directly behind her, sitting a few meters from where she'd just been lying in the snow was an enormous grey wolf. He was gnawing on what appeared to be a leg bone, but his yellow eyes were fixed upon her.

He'd obviously been watching them while he feasted, spying on them while they fucked.

"Is he…?" Hermione frowned, unsure she even wanted to ask.

"Aware?" Snape guessed. "Yes. His control over the beast within is such that he no longer loses his mind or his memory, no matter the phase of the moon of the form he takes. Greyback is… curious… about you."

"That sounds… ominous," Hermione said, her stomach knotting with fear the longer she eyed the enormous werewolf.

"It's because of your pack-bond to Lupin. The mingling of our blood and our magic for the ceremony has extended the pack-bond you carried over to me. It speaks to the wolf in Fenrir. He's torn between claiming the pair of us for his own pack, and wanting to follow you back to Lupin."

"Neither would be preferable," Hermione said, taking a small step back from the enormous wolf and pressing herself firmly to Snape's chest.

"I need to get you home," he told her softly, nodding Greyback away from them when he felt the way she trembled.

The wolf ignored him, continuing to eye them, and Hermione closed her eyes when Snape curled an arm around her middle and apparated them both with a sharp crack.

He didn't take them far, only into the house, from what she could tell.

"What?" Hermione asked, her voice sharper than she intended. "You're not going to carry me across the threshold."

He spun on her so quickly the moment they were alone that the breath rushed from her lungs. One of his hands tunnelled into her hair, heedless of the pins holding it up, and he invaded her space until his chest brushed hers.

"Is that what you want, Hermione?" he asked, his voice a low, silken purr that made her pussy throb needily.

She hated that she  _did_  want that. She knew she shouldn't. She was covered in blood after committing murder. She was married to a man whose capacity for darkness and cruelty boggled her mind. And yet she felt the strangest, silly notion that if she had to be married to him, she had to do it right. It was why she'd vowed to love him amid the wedding ceremony, even though she currently doubted her feelings were so deep as to be labelled fancying him, let alone loving him.

"You want to be carried across the threshold of your new home and fucked by your new husband to properly consummate our new marriage?" he challenged, just daring her to say 'yes'.

"What if I do?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

He narrowed his eyes on her, a cruel smile crawling across his face. Hermione squeaked when he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest and turning. She pressed her lips together on the urge to giggle when he carried her up the stairs two at a time, surprising her that he would actually do it. He didn't speak as he carried her through the maze of corridors to a large door at the end of a hallway.

Wandlessly, he opened it and Hermione peered inside, spying an extravagant king-sized bed topped with plush pillows and decadent blankets. He paused dramatically before carrying her over the threshold of the bedroom and Hermione felt a little thrum inside herself as he carried her right past the bed and into the washroom.

He set her down inside the lavish bathroom and Hermione met his gaze in the mirror when he stood behind her at the bathroom sink. The reality of what he'd just done, what it signified, slowly sank in as she stood there eyeing their reflections. She had blood on her face and staining her arms from elbow to fingertip. A bloodstain in the shape of his hand marred her cheek and Hermione recalled with alarming clarity the feel of his hand on her face and his lips on hers as they'd worked together to break open Umbridge's chest and cut out her heart before slitting her throat.

Bile rose inside her stomach and his lips twisted when Hermione bent over the sink, vomiting in her sudden horror. He turned away as she coughed, emptying her stomach of everything she'd eaten at the feast. Hermione listened as he turned on the taps of the shower and scrubbed his hands clean beneath the spray. When they were blood free, he returned to her, offering her a handkerchief to wipe her mouth before his fingers found the laces of her corset and began unwinding them.

"Are you going into shock?" he asked quietly when a tear slipped down her cheek.

Hermione shook her head, rinsing out her mouth thoroughly but unable to speak when the horror and the terror and the wretched, pulsing throb of dark joy seemed to fill her up so completely.

"I cannot remove the memory for you, Miss Granger," he said quietly as he unlaced her corset until the dress hung loose, waiting to be peeled from her body.

"It's Lady Snape, now," she corrected him quietly and his eyes lifted to her in the mirror, all expression dropping from his face.

"It is," he agreed. "And it will be until the day one of us dies."

Hermione nodded thickly, knowing there was no way to undo anything they'd done. She closed her eyes when more tears welled to find she wasn't sure she even  _wanted_  to undo what they'd done.

"Does it ever go away?" she asked softly.

He didn't answer, and she opened her eyes, seeing his raised eyebrows as he waited for clarification.

"This… this… thrumming joy," she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest where the terrible thrumming sense of darkness and wickedness and seduction seemed to have taken root.

"No," he said. "It never goes away. It only grows. You've been infected with the darkness now. You will be drawn to Dark magic and to doing Dark things from now until the day you die."

Hermione closed her eyes, nodding. She'd read about that. She knew there was no escaping the infection once it set in. Like an addiction to some alluring narcotic, it would gnaw at her psyche forevermore, as it surely did to him.

"You looked beautiful this evening, Granger," he told her gently as he traced his fingertips over the tops of her shoulders, peeling open the sheer fabric that clung to her chest and her arms, intent on undressing her.

"Thank you," she said automatically.

"Drink this," he told her when he'd peeled her out of her dress, going so far as to lift her out of it when the puffy skirt held the shape about her legs even when her chest was bared and free of the corset.

Hermione blinked, turning to face him as he fished a phial from one of his pockets and handed it to her.

"What is it?" she frowned.

"Your Christmas present," he said.

"You got me a Christmas present?" Hermione asked, frowning in shock before blurting the most obvious and unhelpful thing she could. "It's not Christmas until tomorrow."

He shrugged, handing her the phial.

Hermione uncorked it, bringing it to her nose and sniffing the contents.

"Black star-root?" she frowned. "Tansy. Mint. Is that… chamomile? Lavender. Ergot… What is this?"

She lifted her eyes to his face once more, finding that his lips were twitching at her ability to identify so many of the ingredients despite her distress and despite standing before him naked. He'd effectively distracted her, she realized, making her forget her horror and her fear but giving her a simple problem to solve. Hermione didn't say it, but she was grateful for that.

"A contraceptive potion," he said quietly.

"They make me ill," Hermione protested. "Believe me, you won't like it when I lose all appetite and stop eating, or if I pack on the pounds like I'm stocking up on energy in preparation for hibernation, Snape."

"You imagine me stupid enough to have included the ingredients from the previous three potions you tried that made you ill?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

"I didn't tell you what I'd taken," she frowned at him.

"I'm a Professor at Hogwarts, Miss Granger. I have access to your medical records."

"You read my files?" Hermione asked, shocked at the invasion of privacy and yet somehow touched by the thought.

His lips twisted into a brief, cold smile and Hermione sighed.

"You're sure it's not going to make me fat?" she asked.

He arched one eyebrow. "I'm expected to carry you over thresholds,  _wife_. I have no intention of making that any harder on myself that it need be."

Hermione giggled.

"I think the threshold carrying is supposed to be a one-time thing,  _husband_."

He curled his lip at her, apparently not thrilled about the new title. Hermione smiled before tipping the phial to her lips and gulping down the liquid inside. It tasted surprisingly sweet, like syrup on her tongue and Hermione wiped her mouth, handing the phial back to him when he held his hand out for it.

"You need to bathe that blood off," he informed her sternly and Hermione caught the way he seemed torn between the Death Eater and the Professor persona the longer he looked at her.

"Care to help me?" Hermione offered, hoping she could lure him into the shower with her.

"I need to contact the Order and let them know you're safe. When you are bathed and clean, I will return you to them."

Hermione raised her eyebrows before propping her hands on her hips.

"Perhaps it slipped you notice,  _Severus_ , but you and I were just married. If you think I'm about to spend my wedding night being raged at by Harry Potter and sobbed over by Molly Weasley, you aren't as clever as you look."

"I have already consummated the union  _and_  carried you over the threshold, Miss Granger. What more do you want?" he demanded.

"Lady Snape," she corrected him, reaching for the front of his robes and beginning to pop the buttons free of their holes, intent on stripping him. "And I want you to fuck me against the wall of that shower until I scream loud enough to make those werewolves outside howl."

His eyes flashed at her in warning, but Hermione could practically watch the teacherly persona fade away into the depths of his psyche as the Darkness glinted in his eyes and he was all Death Eater all over again. Hermione smirked, her fingers flying over his buttons as she leaned into him, kissing his neck and nipping his collarbone as she pried his robes from his shoulders before unbuckling his belt and quivering at the rasp of his fly. His fingers tunneled into her hair as she shoved his trousers down his legs and he pulled her curls harshly when he tried to toe out of his boots whilst attempting to remove the sapphire clips from her hair.

"Ouch!" she hissed, pulling back and swatting his bare chest before waving a hand at him to indicate he should remove his own shoes and socks while she untangled her hair.

She stepped out of her high heels, prying the clips from her hair and setting them down on the bathroom sink. Just as she pulled the last one free, her curls spilling down her back, it occurred to her that she might one day wish she'd gotten to take a pretty picture of the two of them on their wedding day, but before the thought could take root, Snape walked up behind her, one hand pressing on the small of her back and forcing her to bend.

She realized what he wanted when he glanced at her in the mirror, his hand already smoothing up and down his jutting erection. Poking her bum out and revealing her pink quim, Hermione smirked at him in the mirror. She wasn't sure if it was shock setting it, or if she was flirting with the Darkness, but right then she wanted him to fuck her until her knees buckled. Slick from their earlier coupling, his cock slid in easily, filling her up and stretching her to capacity. Hermione groaned, closing her eyes at the wicked sensations that raced up and down her spine when he sank deep until his pelvic bone bumped her arse.

She was still covered in blood, but from the way he watched her so intently in the mirror, Hermione suspected Snape kind of liked that. He twisted an unforgiving hand into her loose curls, bowing her body while he gripped her hip with the other hand, withdrawing before plunging into her again. Hermione mewled at the wicked thrum of pleasure through her veins, pushing back into each thrust as he built to a steady rhythm. Every stroke nudged her g-spot and goosepimples rushed over her skin when he bucked deep inside her, making her ache just a little.

He didn't speak, but Hermione hadn't expected him to. He simply fucked her. Fucked her and watched her as the panic began to glitter in her eyes, the pleasure overriding everything else as it threatened to snap free. Before she could topple over the edge, he drove in hard and froze, pulling her body straight by his grip of her hair before curling the hand on her hip around the rest on her womb and the hand in her hair slid free to collar her throat lightly. Hermione whined in protest at the pause even as he dragged her backward, still lodged deep inside her, pulling her under the spray of the shower.

The cascade of scalding water over her chilled flesh combined with the feel of him inside her pushed her over the edge and Hermione tipped her head back, leaning against his shoulder as the orgasm crested with her.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered, her body spasming and her knees buckling with the power of her release.

Snape's low chuckle was sinful and wicked, and positively smug but Hermione was too lost to the thrill of shagging him to care. She relaxed back against him, sighing softly when she felt the way the little bits of his magic interwoven with hers seemed to sparkle and glitter within her warmly.

"Did you imagine we were done?" he drawled when she leaned there enjoying the spray and trying to catch her breath. "I seem to recall being told to fuck you until you scream loud enough to make the wolves howl,  _Lady Snape_."

"I have no objections to that," she told him, turning her head and stretching on her toes to kiss his neck softly.

He laughed again as he turned her body, lifting her hands and scrubbing his fingers down the length of them, washing off the blood staining her skin. Hermione kissed his skin, breathing in the increasingly familiar scent of him, like bergamot and peppermint. When the blood was washed from her arms, she tangled her fingers with his, interlacing them and liking the way the wedding bands they each bore glittered in the low light of the bathroom.

He nipped her shoulder hard enough to leave a welt as he lifted their hands, turning her toward the wall and pressing their joined hands to it before rocking back until just the very tip of his cock was nestled in her snug, throbbing pussy. He impaled her torturously slow, inch after glorious inch creeping back inside her only to be withdrawn again. Hermione just  _knew_  he was planning to draw it out, to lure the scream all the way up from her toes so that when she came undone the windows might crack with the power of it. He nipped her shoulder again, the sharp sting soothed with a lave of his tongue and Hermione arched, pushing back into the slow thrusts, grinding herself onto him hungrily.

The brush of his magic along the length of hers made her whimper and Hermione shuddered, turning her head in his direction and nuzzling her cheek against his jaw. She pushed back with her own magic and he nipped her earlobe, his hips bucking, driving him deep suddenly when he'd been going so slow to torment her.

She squeaked when he withdrew completely, untangling their hands and turning her to face him. He was dripping wet, she noticed, blinking at him through the haze of desire and pleasure he'd incited. His ink-black hair was plastered against his shoulders and clinging to his face. His lashes, the same inky shade, captured droplets from the spray of the shower and he had five o'clock shadow darkening his pointed jaw. He watched her with eyes so intense, she quivered beneath his gaze.

Hermione reached for him slowly, leaning against the wall of the shower and tracing her fingers over his chest. His flesh was littered with scars and he had a sparse, thin layer of hair dusting his chest and running in a narrow strip south from his navel. She traced that too, smiling a little when he tensed at the touch, ticklish under her fingers. He twitched when she combed her fingers through the nest of black curls surrounding his jutting erection and Hermione couldn't hold back a grin when he dropped his head back, groaning when she wrapped her fist tightly around his cock and pumped her hand up and down.

She took her time, learning his length and shape as she hadn't really had the chance in the past. Hermione groaned when his hands lifted to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples lightly and making her crazy. When he slid a hand down over her hip and down the back of her thigh before curling one of her legs up over his bony hipbone, Hermione knew she was driving him mad, too.

"Fuck," she heard him swear as he sheathed himself inside her once more, the magic between them flaring and sparking wildly. He burrowed his face into her neck, biting and suckling at her flesh, drawing the blood to the surface in a love bite before he relinquished all control.

Hermione's eyes closed, and her mind was lost amid the sea of pleasure when he let go of all finesse and tenderness. He drove up into her hard enough that she had to rise on her toes to keep from the stabbing, brutal pain of each thrust hitting her womb and making her ache. He was rough then, rougher than he'd ever been with her.

He nipped her hard enough to leave marks, nipping her neck, her jaw, her cheek and her lower lip like he couldn't get enough of her. He drove into her so hard that he took her off her feet and Hermione curled both legs around him, plastered to the wall of the shower with her spine grating against the tiles as Severus Snape let go. She could feel the power and the darkness and the poison of this life inside him, writhing and bubbling, boiling over and spilling free and she knew that right then every emotion he'd bottled up right up until the moment was all channeling into her and out of him through this wild ravishing that made her ache in ways she didn't know she could.

The relentless pleasure drove her over the edge and as he'd surely intended, the scream worked its way up from the very tips of her toes and tore free of her throat raggedly. In the distance the wolves on the grounds howled in response but their eerie calls were drowned out when Snape roared as he came, jerking into her harder and pounding one fist in to the wall beside her head. Hermione flinched, shuddering and digging her nails into his back hard enough to leave marks.

She trembled against him when he let her down, her legs sliding the length of his body, her knees weak beneath her. Tangling her hands into his hair, Hermione pulled his lips to hers, kissing him hungrily but before she could do more than brush her tongue along the length of his, he pushed away from the wall with a snarl.

Hermione squeaked in surprise when he pulled away, stalking out of the shower, and then right out of the bathroom like a whipped dog without looking back.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

She could hear him swearing in the bedroom and Hermione shook her head, baffled. Rinsing off, she turned off the taps and climbed out of the shower, flicking her wand to dry herself before peering around in the hopes of finding something to wear. There was nothing but Snape's clothes and her dress. Huffing in annoyance, Hermione wriggled back into her dress, using magic to lace it up once more.

Despite the passionate fucking and the heat of the shower, she shivered with cold in the drafty old mansion and Hermione frowned before spying Snape's outer cloak, the part of his Death Eater uniform that made him billow so scarily and, stooping, she scooped it up and curled it around her shoulders, grateful for the warmth. Collecting the sapphire pins from Narcissa, and wondering if she was supposed to return them, Hermione picked up the rest of her new husband's clothing and carried it into the bedroom, suspecting he'd want it just as soon as he stopped cursing.

She frowned when she entered and found that though the hearth fire had been stoked and was crackling merrily, the room was empty. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

"Severus?" she asked quietly, flicking her wand to fold his clothes and wondering where he'd gone.

When she spotted vanity table in a corner of the room with a small jewelry box sitting upon it, Hermione hurried over, opening the sterling silver snuffbox and depositing the precious hair-pins inside, not wanting to lose them. There was nothing else inside, and when she opened the drawers and little cupboards of the vanity, she found them all empty but for a few little scent pouches to make them smell pretty.

The closet was just as bare, and she realized that if she was going to be expected to live here, which she supposed she would now that she was married to Snape and bound to the house and the land as it's Lady as surely as he was as it's Lord, then she would need to fetch her things and begin building whatever life she chose for herself.

The idea seemed novel before it occurred to her that she would have to try to explain to her parents why she'd gotten married at just seventeen years old and why she'd 'chosen' so surly and disagreeable a wizard. She would have to face her friends, and a terrible pit in her stomach began to churn with nervousness at the very idea. Ron might've already known she'd been shagging Severus and that she thought that she maybe, might just fancy him. A bit.

He was loyal, and he likely wouldn't turn on her, but he would surely be hurt and outraged on her behalf. Harry… Merlin, Hermione didn't even want to think about Harry. He'd spent the better part of a month muttering to himself over the notion that his mother had dated Severus twenty years ago. She didn't doubt Harry would be beyond reason about this. He was going to cast her out, she realized.

Had it been that she was a victim of circumstance, Hermione supposed he might've seen his way clear to begrudgingly forgiving her. But Voldemort had chosen her because she'd already been shagging Snape, despite lying to Harry and saying she wasn't. Harry wouldn't stand for that. He would view that as a betrayal of his trust, and rightly so. She'd bald-faced lied to him when he accused of her shagging Severus, even if he had mostly implied it. She'd made up nonsense to excuse what she'd been doing with Severus and she knew that wouldn't go down well. Harry would be furious enough to learn that despite his being a cruel, sadistic, cold-hearted git, she rather liked Snape.

She liked his snark and his dagger-sharp tongue. She liked his hands and his voice and the feel of his warm skin under her hands. She'd liked the way he'd kissed her tonight, and she liked the way he fucked her like he wasn't afraid to break her despite her smaller stature and her petite frame. She liked that he pushed her. And Merlin knew that no one have ever pushed her like Snape did. He pushed her to find smarter, better, more logical ways of doing things. He pushed her to think past the information published in her textbooks. He pushed her to synthesize reasons  _why_  certain things were restricted or unpublished. He pushed her to figure out  _why_ certain potion ingredients interacted poorly even when all indicators suggested they should compliment each other.

He didn't try to spoon-feed anyone the answer and he didn't suffer fools. Despite the fact that he was the harshest marker she'd ever endured, and despite the suffering to her perfect grade-average as a result, Hermione rather liked that he pulled her up if she got off topic in an essay and the way his spiky handwriting detailed all the reasons why her synthesis was wrong, even when she compared sources and triple checked her facts. She liked that he was mean, not because she wanted to be insulted, or liked when he goaded her friends into losing their tempers and making mistakes, but because for all his wretchedness about it, he seemed to do it with the genuine intent of helping them overcome their flaws.

It had taken her until fifth year to figure that out, but she'd noticed that for all that Snape tormented his students without mercy, there  _was_  method to his madness. He refused to allow her to answer every question in class even when she knew the answers to ensure she wouldn't get too big for her britches, wouldn't spoon-feed her classmates the course, and wouldn't end up a narcissist convinced of her own cleverness with an attention-complex. He refused to allow her to be the centre of attention and rather than praising her for her know-it-all ways, he taunted her, reminding her that no matter how clever she might be, she could still be wrong and she still had flaws.

He taunted Harry for the same reason. Harry had a wicked temper and he needed to learn better control of it. Pushing the bespectacled boy in class where he needed to be in control so as to not destroy a potion or bumble a spell, and pushing him to temper in a setting where swearing, cursing, or dueling his tormentor were unacceptable meant he had to learn to control his rage, mind his tongue, and not just scream at everyone who irritated him. Taunting him about his father, and even sneering over his 'Chosen One' status served to remind him that his parents had died to save him and he better be grateful and live right, and not be narcissistic or overly arrogant.

Not that he ever saw it that way, or that he would ever listen were she try to explain it to Harry. He was going to be unbearable about her being married to Severus, she was sure. Hermione picked at her skirts, looking around the room and wondering where she was even supposed to begin. She would eventually have to explain all this to her friends, her peers, her teachers and her parents. She would have to tell them all about the fact that because she was entirely too intrigued by an off-limits man for her own good, and because she happened to have encountered him by chance when he forgot his reason and ravished her, she was now married to the git. She would have to tell them she'd been shagging him, and that she'd been entirely on board for the entire thing.

Already her mind was filled with horrible thoughts of the accusations that would be slung at her and Severus over this. People like Harry and Molly might accuse him of seducing her, or taking advantage of her. They might even accuse him of raping her. Hermione didn't fancy having to try and explain to furious well-meaners that she most certainly had not been forced or coerced into shagging the wizard. She'd done that of her own volition, willingly and enthusiastically letting him into her knickers and reaping the rewards. She didn't much fancy those who might accuse her of being a promiscuous little trollop, either, envisioning the likes of Lavender Brown calling her a teacher's pet and probably calling her a slut.

Hermione wouldn't stand for that. She'd never taken well to notions of gender stereotyping when it came to sexual need, desires, or autonomy. She was her own person, she knew her own mind and she knew her own body. That her body had declared Severus an arousing and delightful choice of bed-partner, and that her mind had agreed, did not make her a slut. That she'd lost her virginity to Viktor at fifteen and explored the realm of sexual possibility with him did not make her a slut. That she and Ron had shared a casual, if torrid, sexual relationship in addition to a close friendship did not make her a slut and just as surely as she would stomp on notions of rape, or forced consent, she would pounce on those who suggested she was a trollop with all the vengeance of a niffler in a jewelry shop, weeding out every glitter of it and robbing those who'd kept it of such notions.

Sighing, Hermione wondered if maybe, for tonight, it would be better to focus on more pressing matters than the impending reactions of her friends, her family, and the wider wizarding population. After all, she'd been kidnapped and held prisoner for three days without word to her friends that she was safe and healthy, not matter her recent activities. She supposed that despite the late hour, it would be best to at least send word to Harry and Ron, to let them know she was safe and unhurt, if permanently tainted by Darkness and suddenly married. Not that she wanted to tell them about the marriage before she had to. That would be a disaster and she was acutely aware that in spite of her ordeal, tomorrow was Christmas. She didn't want to ruin what was supposed to be a happy occasion by mentioning her marriage, her kidnapping, her sex-life, or her attraction to one, Severus Snape.

Those were things that would get in the way of good cheer and the gift-giving spirit and Hermione would just as soon feign amnesia for the sake of letting Harry and the others enjoy a happy Christmas filled with good food, warm hugs, and close friends coming together. She certainly didn't want to spend the holiday confessing to the murder she'd committed. Nor did she particularly want to think about the murder she'd committed, or about the fact that she might very well get away with what she'd done since those likely to miss Umbridge had either been present for her death, or would know better than to ask after her fate.

As she had the though it occurred to her suddenly that Voldemort had very cleverly ensured that despite bringing a known muggle-born who was part of the Order into the folds of the Death Eaters by marrying her to Snape, she couldn't rat any of them out to the Ministry without incriminating herself. They'd all seen her commit murder, even if Severus had been the one guiding the knife she'd clutched. They would all testify to say she'd been the one to murder Dolores Umbridge and as such, if she wanted to avoid Azkaban, she would be forced to keep her silence regarding whatever else she might see people doing throughout the time she would undoubtedly be forced to spend in their company. She somehow doubted that having wedded her to Severus and incited the Lordship ritual, Voldemort would decide to simply leave her be.

Merlin, she was going to be expected to spend more time with them, she realized. She might be coerced into committing other crimes. She might just be forced to host them here in this house he'd given her and Severus. Hermione didn't fancy the idea, but she doubted anyone had ever been in a position where they refused the Dark Lord as a house guest if they wanted to continue breathing. At least anyone not a part of the Order with nerve enough and a minor death-wish strong enough to tell him to go suck a giant's big-toe. She might actually be expected to play hostess to the wretched monster, and as Severus's wife, she would have little choice but to obey lest she get Severus in trouble and risk his life and his status as a spy for the Order. Perhaps she could spy too, Hermione thought. She was already infected with the Darkness, and she was in a prime spot to gather intel to pass to the Order. Voldemort would surely see it coming, and likely try to extract information from her about the Order in return for allowing her into the fold enough to even know the names of a few of the faces behind the masks. But she could give it a go. At least, she could if Harry and the others didn't turn on her and begin treating her as some distrustworthy wretch the way they treated Severus.

Supposing that she'd best at least send them a message to reassure them she was alright, Hermione closed her eyes, drawing on the happiest memories she had and flicking her wand.

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," she chanted the incantation.

Nothing happened. There was no well of joy within her, no press of the magic leaving her body, and Hermione's eyes flew open in a panic.

" _Expecto Patronum_!" she tried again, frowning in concentration, allowing her happiest memories to fill her up.

A pathetic, non-corporeal white mist hazed from the tip of her wand and Hermione snarled.

" _Accio_!" she hissed, pointing her wand at the snuffbox on the vanity. The item whizzed into her grip with ease and Hermione frowned. Her magic didn't appear diminished, and yet she couldn't seem to cast the patronus.

" _Exepcto Patronum_!" she tried again. This time she got a vaguely animal shaped creature, but not the usual – if new – vixen patronus she'd discovered was now her protector.

Before she could put any more thought into why the spell was weaker than it should be, the bedroom flew open with a bang and Hermione jumped, shrieking in surprise and flinging a hex at the intruder. Snape hissed at her, blocking the spell silently as he stalked into the room, looking as furious as he had been when he stormed out a few minutes earlier.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, frowning in concern when she noticed that he'd donned a pair of pants, though she'd no idea where he'd gotten them. He was still shirtless, his lithe form sinuous as he tracked her movements across the room like a big cat when she found herself instinctively backing away from the clearly volatile wizard.

Sparks of green magic flickered through his lank hair and he radiated cold fury and so much power that it almost seemed to steal the breath from her lungs and the strength from her knees, leaving her weak and, honestly, scaring her just a little. Hermione's back hit the wall by the washroom door before she realized she'd even begun backing away from him, uncertain she wanted to be close enough to touch when he looked so utterly conflicted and seemed so very angry. He kept coming and Hermione's grip tightened on her wand, wondering if he planned to kill her. He certainly looked angry enough to give it a go. Indeed, this wasn't the wicked and dangerous expression of her favorite Death Eater, but the furious, take-no-nonsense, wrathful expression of her least favorite teacher.

"Severus," she began calmly, wondering what on earth was wrong with him and hoping she might be able to reason with him, or at the very least, calm him down enough to keep him from strangling her with his bare hands. She didn't truly fear he would hurt her – at least not intentionally – but she did worry he might be rougher than he meant to be thanks to the volatile power that seemed to have broken free of the chains he kept it in.

She didn't think he'd meant to be so rough with her in the shower, and she didn't think he'd meant to bite so hard, or to punch the shower wall, but he had done, and he seemed no less calm than he'd been before storming out.

Before she could formulate a sentence to properly reason with him, he closed the distance between the two of them, his fingers tunneling into her damp curls and tipping her face up to his. He swooped down and claimed her lips hungrily, his tongue sweeping against the seam of them until she parted for him and then diving inside to tangle with hers.

Closing her eyes, Hermione kissed him back hungrily, her magic flaring at the touch and her aching body thrumming as though entertaining notions of another round. He snogged her until she was dizzy, his tongue demanding, sharp, and sinful inside her mouth, licking at her own like he might pull some kind of reason or sense from within her and take it for himself. Hermione kissed him back needily, her hands pulling at his bony shoulders, her body molding to the shape of his.

When he pulled back he was breathing hard and his eyes flashed with anger and confusion and something else she didn't understand and couldn't identify when he seemed fit to explode right in front of her.

"You're seventeen," he told her, as though she might've managed to forget.

"I am," Hermione agreed huskily, nodding slowly.

"You're one of my students," he said, and Hermione realized that whatever moral dilemma he had over their marriage was obviously tormenting him.

Not that she blamed him. Married, they might be, but there would surely be complications. After all, she hadn't even bothered getting him a Christmas present because when she'd thought of doing so she'd spent two hours arguing with herself that he wouldn't get her anything and that he would surely take it the wrong way to have her purchasing him a gift when all they'd done was shag a couple of times. He might've loaned her some of his books, and he might've briefly entertained the notion of exploring her potentially spinning moral compass, but they weren't actually friends. He didn't like her, let alone fancy her. And now he was stuck with her until one of the croaked.

"I'm your wife," she pointed out.

"You're only in your sixth year," he said, ignoring her comment. "You have another year and a half before you will even graduate."

Hermione nodded, frowning at him.

"I had questions about that," she said. "Am I to live with you in your quarters at Hogwarts from now on? Or in my dormitory?"

"You can't move in with me," he said coldly, though she didn't think he meant it in the sense that he didn't want her encroaching on his space or didn't want to be near her. He seemed genuinely shocked by the very suggestion and Hermione supposed it hadn't even crossed his mind that as husband and wife, they were expected to live together and to share a bed and to build a life together.

The Dark Lord certainly seemed to intend it, having tied them to a house full of furniture, but no personal belongings that made a house, a home.

"I can," she said. "In  _Hogwarts: A History_ , it clearly states on page seven hundred and twenty-nine that as long as a student is of legal wizarding age and enters into the union willingly, they may court, and even marry a member of faculty and are permitted to share quarters as man and wife. It's not against school rules for us to be married, or for us to share quarters in that capacity."

"You're seventeen," he said again. "And my student. You take classes under my tutelage and  _you_ , Miss Granger, are not well-liked by your peers. I can list a handful off the top of my head who would make it their life's ambition to have you expelled and have your entire schooling history and all of your grades called into question. You will be forced to endure peer review under the Board of Governors to ensure that this relationship has in no way affected your education and that you have not earned higher than average grades as a result."

Hermione put her hands on her hips.

"First of all," she said, shoving against him to push him off her so that she could begin to pace. "I've never had less than a single Exceeds Expectations grade in my entire academic career. I can provide record of my primary school grades to prove that I have always been an over-achieving know-it-all, if need be. I got straight A's at my muggle primary school. Secondly, anyone who bothered to look at my academic transcript – and I can provide copies of every essay, both in draft form  _and_  the graded copies returned from my teachers – would see that of every Professor I've studied under, the harshest marker of my work has  _always_  been you. I have copies of every essay you've ever marked, covered in your spiky red script detailing all the ways that regurgitating the textbook and going off on tangents is not acceptable and does not constitute proper and well-rounded arguments. Anyone with half a brain will see that from every listed detention – which I might add, I have only ever been issued by you and by Umbridge since my first year when Hagrid had that bloody dragon – to every assignment, every essay, and every testament from my peers, it has always been that you have never shown me any preferential treatment. In fact, anyone whose sat through a class with you and I in the same room will be able to testify that your bias sways toward the negative and is portrayed through your often harsh, unkind, and downright rude criticism of me and my friends."

"You think they won't lie?" he sneered.

Hermione ignored him, speaking right over the top of him.

"Thirdly, anyone who I imagine would bother to object, such as Malfoy, Parkinson, or Nott – who sit closest in rank behind myself in average grades – are hardly going to object to my marriage to you when it was achieved on the Dark Lord's orders. Somehow, I don't think Nott's daddy will be very pleased with him making waves for the Dark Lord's favorite Death Eater. Is your Death Eater godson going to make trouble for you regarding your Dark-Lord-issued wife? Is Parkinson really dense enough  _not_  to realize the circumstances that brought this about and how it might reflect upon her should she cause trouble? Any others who might object – and the only one I can think of is Tobias Entwhistle from my year – will surely be discouraged when the Board of Governors dismiss the matter in short order  _if_  they allow the investigation at all. After all, Lucius Malfoy is a member, no?"

"Not since he was thrown in Azkaban, courtesy of your friend and his big mouth. Though I somehow doubt Potter thought of the idea to sell the story to Skeeter and publish it in the Quibbler. Quite a few of the brethren spied your ink-stained fingerprints all over  _that_  particular venture and were not pleased with you," Severus snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Just the same, Severus, there are plenty of teachers who can and will vouch for the fact that I'm an insufferable know-it-all. Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra, Vector, Babbling, Slughorn, and even Hagrid can and  _will_  all be able to offer testimony that I achieve impeccable grades in all of their classes and have done since I began at Hogwarts – long before I ever looked sideways at you."

"You think the Ministry won't pounce on an opportunity to delve into your life, lest they find something useful on Potter?"

"The Ministry is under the Dark Lord's command, or will be shortly, yes?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "He got us into this mess. He can deal with the fallout, lest your good name be besmirched."

"The Dark Lord doesn't care what the world thinks of me, Miss Granger," Snape snapped. "He doesn't care about anyone or anything but defeating Potter and immortalizing himself forever within the wizarding world."

"You're wrong," Hermione dared to disagree. "He cares very much what people think of you. He had the entire Selwyn family murdered just to wed you to me and to make you Lord of Selwyn Hall. He elevated your status in the eyes of our entire world, and did so in a way that will most certainly draw attention. He  _wants_  people to know we're married. He  _wants_  us to figure this mess out in a way that means we have to tolerate each other and live together. Why else would he give us this enormous house, all filled with furniture and all the trimmings, but none of the little touches that make a house a home. The closets and drawers are all empty, which I doubt is by mistake. He expects us to live here, together, and to find a way to make this work, in a way that will very publicly draw attention when everyone gets word of our marriage. I'm surprised he didn't insist on me moving in with you at Hogwarts to rub it in all of their faces that he made you marry Harry Potter's Mudblood and made you Lord of Selwyn Hall."

"Potter is another problem entirely," Snape muttered, pacing past her, still shirtless and still positively crackling with the anger of his barely contained magical power. He emanated cold as he moved, and Hermione fought a shiver. She could tell he was agitated and simmering with barely restrained anger.

"Harry will be a problem, yes. I expect that when he realizes I outright lied to him about shagging you, he will claim I've betrayed him and that he can no longer trust me. I expect he will turn on me in short order just as soon as we return to Headquarters," Hermione said quietly.

Snape paused in his pacing.

"We should do that now," he said.

"It's almost midnight on Christmas Eve, Severus. I tried to send a Patronus to let them know I was safe and would see them in all in the morning, should anyone actually still be awake, but I can't seem to cast a fully corporeal patronus to carry the message."

He frowned at her.

"Show me," he commanded, and Hermione flicked her wand, casting the charm and watching the vague outline of a fox take shape.

"You magic has been corrupted. Are all of your other spells working?" he asked.

Hermione nodded, summoning things to herself and levitating the stool of her vanity table.

"Just the patronus, then," he murmured. "It is the purest form of Light magic and you have just been infected with the Darkness. That you can cast the spell at all suggests you are still largely unaffected by the darkness, but you will have to work to overcome the effects of that rip in your soul."

"It's just because of that?" she asked, frowning. "I can feel the pulsing little throb of Dark magic inside my chest when I cast it. If I squash that into a box and lock it up, I should be able to cast as usual, shouldn't I?"

"It's hardly that simple," Severus rolled his eyes at her.

"Nonsense," Hermione said. "I'm logical. I can compartmentalize."

And she did. Shoving that pulsing ball of dark magic inside herself into a mind-trap, Hermione locked it up and flicked her wand, summoning her happiest memories and casting her patronus once more. The blindingly bright white form of her vixen burst free of her wand and Hermione smiled as it frolicked across the bedroom.

"That's better. Right, you're going to Harry and Ron. I'm safe and I'll see them all tomorrow," she said to the patronus. It wagged its bushy tail before bounding away through the walls and off into the night.

"You do realise they have all spent the last three days sitting around the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, waiting by the Floo for news of your death, don't you?" he asked, frowning at her heavily.

"Of course, they have," she sighed. "But I'm not in any state to see them all."

"Your parents have been collected and smuggled into the building, Miss Granger," he told her. "They  _all_  know you've been taken prisoner and after my brief interlude there before dinner this evening, they all know that you've been fucking me and are waiting with baited breath to hear if you have been married or murdered. They will want to see you to assure themselves you are alive and well."

"They picked up my parents?" she paled in horror. "What on earth for?"

"In preparation for your potential murder, you little fool!" he snarled.

"Oh, gods," Hermione put her face in her hands. "I hadn't told them about any of this. I've been keeping them blissfully in the dark about the war, not wanting them to freak out. They'll flip and try to keep me from returning to Hogwarts if they learn a megalomaniac is trying to take over the wizarding world."

"Imagine how they'll react when they learn their only daughter is married to a man, twenty years her senior," he sneered, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hermione waved at hand at him dismissively. "They've got fifteen years between themselves. They'll be surprised I didn't go for someone thirty or forty years my senior. They won't even bat an eye at nineteen years age difference."

She almost didn't notice the split-second of gob-smacked expression he wore, and nearly missed the loosening of tension in his wiry frame, except that she happened to turn, mid-pace, right at that moment, and saw him.

"You've been worrying yourself sick that my parents will flip their lid when you have to meet them?" she asked, almost giggling.

"You're seventeen," he reminded her gruffly.

"Repeating it will not change that fact, Severus," she said, smiling gently. "Believe me, on the list of things to worry about regarding this mess, my parents' reactions to my being married to you is a low priority."

"I am your teacher," he said again. "Your least favorite, surliest, meanest Professor."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "As long as you don't hex them, they won't mind," she said. "They know what I'm like, Snape. They'd be shocked beyond belief if I didn't marry someone as uptight, rude, bossy, and downright contrary as myself."

"I am not contrary," he hissed.

"And I'm not a brunette," she retorted sarcastically. "Now, are you going to  _insist_  we attend Grimmauld Place this evening?"

"Yes," he snapped. "Mostly because they need to see you're safe, but also because all of your belongings are there. I'd prefer you didn't continue to flit about the house in your wedding dress, Miss Granger."

"It's Lady Snape," she corrected him, stomping her foot.

"Well,  _Lady Snape_ , the most important reason for returning you to Headquarters is so that I can get you out of that dress and have my cloak returned before you destroy the hems by dragging it across the ground as a result of your diminutive stature. It's unbecoming for you to be gallivanting about the house without knickers, in a wedding dress and wrapped in a Death Eater cloak."

"Am I distracting you in my knicker-less state?" she taunted before she could think better of it.

His dark eyes flashed at her wickedly and Hermione squeaked when he moved so fast, she missed it until suddenly his hands were in her hair and he was glaring down his hooked nose at her.

"What have I said about insolence?" he asked crossly, apparently too stressed for taunts.

"That it's as unbecoming as surliness," she replied contrarily, and he shook his head.

"You really ought to learn how to control that tongue, Granger," he warned her quietly. "Only his intent to use you for nefarious purpose this evening prevented the Dark Lord from murdering you at dinner, you know?"

"Rubbish," Hermione said. "The Dark Lord is intrigued by me – which I'll grant is probably worse. The rest of the Death Eaters likely wanted to murder me, but that's not exactly out of the ordinary."

"You are too witty and sarcastic for your own good, witch."

"Only when emulating my husband," she replied evenly, holding his gaze.

He curled his lip at her and Hermione smiled as innocently as she could manage before stretching up on her toes and stealing another kiss from his lips. He resisted for a moment before allowing his lips to move with hers. Despite the urge to deepen the kiss beyond the brush of their closed lips, Hermione pulled back slowly after a few breathless minutes.

"I'd forgotten that the mingling of our magics during the ceremonies and subsequent fucking would make you even ruder than usual," he informed her when she blinked at him.

"Something to look forward to over the coming days," she said. "What happens now?"

He raised one eyebrow at her before pulling back and trailing his eyes over her from head to toe.

"We attend Headquarters," he said dryly. "And I leave you to the desperately sobbing clutches of Molly Weasley and your mother, to be lectured by the likes of Dumbledore and Lupin and Arthur, before likely being forced to duel Potter."

"I meant what happens between us," Hermione clarified, though his put-upon tone amused her more than it should. "You don't have the patience for a pet, let alone a wife. Are we both to live here?"

"We  _are_  Lord and Lady of the Hall," he said, glancing around the room with an almost fond gleam in his eyes. Hermione understood the attachment. The magic binding them to the land and the building had sparked a certain fondness in her, too, no matter the gothic Victorian style of decorating that she might just have to fix in short order.

"Well,  _Lord_ Snape," she said primly, "How are you going to cope with sharing space and even your bed with me from here on out?"

"There are plenty of rooms you could sleep in. We don't have to share," he frowned at her, balking at the very idea.

"I already claimed the vanity table," she protested. "My hair pins are nestled in the snuffbox as we speak."

"My clothes are on the bed," he argued.

"I'm not choosing another room, Snape," she warned him, putting her hands on her hips.

"You will not enjoy being my wife, you do realise that, don't you?"

"Because you're a snarky git?" Hermione guessed, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Yes," he smirked. "I am actually alone by choice. I don't  _like_  other people, Miss Granger. To be forced to live with someone else is my definition of a nightmare."

"Tough," she said, laughing. "You're stuck with me."

"I'm certain there is nothing in our vows, nor in the Lordship ceremony that suggests we have to share quarters, Miss Granger. You functioned perfectly well gallivanting off to that hovel the Weasleys call home when not at Hogwarts or imposing upon your parents. You needn't relocate on my account."

"You're suggesting that you  _approve_  the idea of your young and nubile wife living under the same roof as her handsome and charming ex-lover?" she asked, unable to keep from taunting him again.

His eyes narrowed and his expression blackened in an instant.

"If you're referring to Weasley then you need to revisit your definitions of 'handsome' and 'charming', witch," he growled.

"I'm certain he would be up to the task of comforting me when my snarky husband throws me out of the house and can't bear to live with me," she goaded. "He can be very comforting, you know?"

"Isn't he dating that simpering blonde girl from your house?" Severus frowned at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Technicalities mean little."

"You fucked him whilst he is dating the twit?" Severus asked raising his eyebrows.

"You were avoiding me," she pointed out, smirking just bit and crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't recall you beating down my office door, Miss Granger. Nor the door to my quarters, for that matter, and it's not as though you don't know the way."

"I watched you enter the same corridor as me last week before turning and storming off in the other direction when you saw me coming."

"I had a meeting," he scoffed. "I'm certain I didn't even notice your presence. You have fucked the ginger idiot since you last fucked me?"

"I last fucked you a littler under twenty minutes ago, Severus," she pointed out.

"Don't be facetious," he hissed.

"Yes, Ron and I shagged since the last time you lost your temper and your humanity enough whilst in my vicinity and seduced me into your bed. Which was almost a month ago, by the way."

"Keeping track?" he asked, smirking.

"Since I had to make sure the abortifacient potion worked, and I wasn't pregnant with your demon spawn, yes, I was keeping tracking," she snapped.

He twisted his lips into a sneer at the very idea.

"And he didn't bat an eye at the notion of betraying his girlfriend just because you happened to crook your finger at him and spread your legs?" he demanded, and Hermione might've reveled in the jealousy lacing his tone. Just a bit. If she was being honest. Though she doubted it would be in her best interests to point that out.

"As a matter of fact,  _he_  came sniffing around asking for it when in need of reassurance that he wasn't rubbish in bed after fucking her and discovering that she's an unresponsive, timid little doormat," Hermione said.

"As opposed to your wanton cries and all that sweet begging you're so good at," he smirked cruelly. Hermione swatted him.

"Why am I telling you any of this? The  _point_  is that if you really mean to hurl me out of our marital home and drive me toward the arms of my charming ex-lover, I feel certain he would be open to comforting me," she said. "And I'm not stupid enough to actually think you've only been fucking me in months, Severus. I did have to sit through an uncomfortable dinner with  _your_  other lover this evening, worrying that you might pick her instead of me and leave me to the cruel clutches of Antonin Dolohov, so you can just shove whatever hurt feelings you may or may not be harboring right up your arse."

"I haven't fucked Carrow in over a year, thank you," he rolled her eyes.

"Then why was she an option to marry you?" Hermione frowned.

"The Dark Lord wanted someone I'd already fucked so that consummation of the marriage wouldn't be required to slow down the Lordship ceremony," he shrugged. "And on my long list of past shags, she's been something of a regular, largely due to the fact that she's a trollop who requires little more than a blunt, or even rude request, before she'll spread her legs. The brethren tend to fuck her when they can't be arsed to put the effort into seducing someone else."

"Funny, I thought they'd just rape whoever took their fancy," she snarked.

"Most of them do," Snape retorted.

Hermione pulled a face of disgust, but he merely shrugged his shoulders.

"In any case, I may not have fucked Carrow recently, but I did fuck others since last shagging you," he went on.

"Others, plural?" she asked.

"Lucius and Narcissa are a package deal," he shrugged his shoulders, seeming as amused as she'd been by the jealousy that suddenly laced her tone, no matter how hard she tried to filter it out.

"You've had sex with another wizard?" Hermione asked, her eyes widening.

"Only Lucius," he said, frowning. "And the man's prissy enough and pretty enough with that hair of his that he practically counts as female."

"Do you… um…"

"Give, or take?" he smirked at her.

She nodded, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"He likes my cock, not my arse," Severus said. "He fancies me, if I'm being honest. Cissy, too."

"I can't imagine Narcissa Malfoy ever pulling her nose out of the air long enough to let anyone see her naked, let alone to experience feelings of fondness or affection for anyone," Hermione said, trying very hard to hide her sudden self-consciousness and jealousy. She knew she wasn't ugly, but she certainly wasn't in league with Narcissa Malfoy when it came to beauty.

"You'd be surprised. Cissy likes it rough, and adores dirty talk," he drawled. "The fouler the language, the better."

"She likes to be cursed at?" Hermione giggled. "But she's so proper."

"Not in private. Though I don't believe Lucius deigns to share her with anyone else," he mused, looking pensive as he absently traced the tips of his fingers down her neck, making her quiver.

"Special to them, aren't you?" she said, aware of the bitterness lacing her tone.

"Yes," Severus admitted, frowning a little. "Though I've no idea why. Lucius is five years my senior and Cissy is three years older than me. He took an interest at Hogwarts as soon as it became clear that I'd a knack for Dark magic and he's never wandered off."

Hermione's lips twitched when his brow furrowed as though he was genuinely puzzled about why Lucius and Narcissa would permit him to fuck the pair of them, and would name him Draco's godfather, and tolerate him when he could be such a wretch.

"Well, they can both go jump in the lake if they think they're ever fucking you again," Hermione said, pulling out of his grip and crossing the room to the end of the bed where his clothes were folded, picking up his robes and bringing them back to him.

"This from the witch threatening to run off with her ginger ex-boyfriend if I don't share my bed," Snape taunted.

"Snape?" Hermione asked polite when she stood before him once more, holding out his robes expectantly. He raised his eyebrows, looking wickedly amused. "Shut up and put your clothes on or I'm going to tell everyone you let Lucius Malfoy bend you over and fuck you every other day."

" _I_  fuck  _him_ ," Severus said. "When I have to. Not the other way around."

"Have to?" Hermione asked.

"When I want to fuck Cissy," he clarified.

"Which you do… often?"

"The other night was the first time since Draco was a tot," Severus said, his brow furrowing again. "Confound it, Granger! Why am I telling you any of this? I'm not taking you anywhere near the Order when I'm channelling so many of your oversharing tendencies!"

"Yes, you are. You insisted they're all waiting by the Floo to see me. Get dressed, or I'm taking you there, shirtless."

He curled his lip at her furiously before pulling his robes on and using magic to fasten the many buttons. She was crossing the room in search of her shoes when he caught her wrist and Hermione squeaked in surprise when he pulled her around to face him before swooping in and stealing another furious snog from her lips. His tongue dove in to spar with hers and Hermione could tell he was angry all over again, this time with her for being so contrary and for provoking him.

When he pulled back just as suddenly, Hermione blinked dazedly.

"I thought you didn't like snogging," she said quietly. "Not that I'm complaining, but for a man who evaded all of my attempts the last time we shagged and kind of annoyed me with his refusal, you've been liberal with them this evening."

He curled his lip, looking away for a long moment.

"Don't get used to it, Miss Granger," he warned. "The effects of the wedding ceremony drive us both to seek physical contact. It will wear off when the Vows sink in."

She glanced at her hands, noting the many crisscrossing white lines marring her skin where they'd vowed themselves together. They had been tingling since their appearance, and they gleamed in the dimly lit room, not yet fully entrenched in her magical core.

"And after that?" Hermione asked. "I confess, I don't much fancy the idea of a kiss-free marriage. I actually enjoy snogging."

"I enjoy solitude," he retorted, suddenly closing off once more and returning to the cold, stand-offish Death Eater and Potions Master she knew. "Get your shoes, Miss Granger, or prepare to brave Grimmauld Place barefoot."

Hermione huffed in annoyance, hurrying into the bathroom for her heels and slipping them onto her feet before returning to him and finding his expression blank once more. When she stood before him, he offered his arm to her, disapparating them both the moment she took the offered appendage, all without saying another word.


	17. Chapter 17

Remus Lupin paced restlessly before the fire inside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Something wasn't right. Moony was agitated, riling for release beneath his skin and he felt the strangest urge to howl.

"Remus?" Harry asked quietly, approaching him carefully and frowning as though concerned for his health. Not that Remus blamed him. He was a little unnerving when he was agitated and the restlessness of Moony underneath his skin got the best of him.

The feel of his packmate coming closer calmed Moony slightly, and Remus blinked at Harry curiously, given that the younger wizard had been pacing and restless, muttering to himself for days as they anxiously awaited word of Hermione's fate.

It was late in the evening, many of the Order having retired to their homes and to bed to await a summons or news of Hermione. Only Remus, Harry, Ron, Molly and Arthur remained awake, though Ron was currently dozing, his head cushioned on his arms where he sat slumped at the kitchen table. Molly had been tirelessly cleaning the kitchen until it shone as it probably hadn't since it was first built. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hands were red-raw from the scrubbing and cooking she'd been doing as they awaited some reassurance that Hermione was safe and well.

"Everything alright?" Harry asked softly, eyeing him as though concerned for the way he absently scratched at his skin with nails that had darkened toward the wicked black claws of his wolf-form.

Remus hesitated before he shook his head, glancing at Arthur and Molly to make sure they wouldn't fret any-more than they already were.

"Is it Hermione?" The boy asked.

"Shouldn't be," Remus said. "Moony is agitated. He only gets like this if a new packmate is initiated or the Pack is under threat."

"You have a pack?" Harry asked blankly.

Remus frowned at him. "Yes. You're a part of it, Harry. I thought Sirius told you?"

Harry's eyes widened. "But I'm not a werewolf," he protested.

"You don't have to be," Remus smiled. "Only I have to be. The rest is blood magic. When we were young and stupid, the other Marauders and I made a blood pact, not realizing it would instigate the pack bond, what with my lycanthropy. And since you share a bloodline with James, the pack bond was carried over to you when you were born."

Harry nodded slowly.

"Does that mean you still have a pack bond to Pettigrew? Harry asked quietly, frowning.

Remus twisted his face into a sneer.

"I did have," he nodded. "Bastard severed it shortly before he faked his death – it's how he got away with faking his death for so long without my knowledge. He had Greyback override the bond. Not that it matters, anymore, whether he is or ever was a packmate. Pettigrew is dead."

"What? When?" Harry asked.

Remus frowned at him, wondering why he hadn't been informed.

"A few weeks ago, Harry," Remus said. "I thought Severus or Albus would've told you? He was murdered."

"Apparently no one tells me anything," Harry said bitterly, looking away with a scowl. "Is it true my Mum and Snape used to be friends? That they dated?"

Remus sighed, looking sheepish and wondering how Harry had found out about that. "Uh, yeah," he said rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "They were close friends before Hogwarts. Your Mum grew up in the same suburb as Snape, and they were the only magic folk in the area. They bonded over it and were inseparable at school. They started dating in the summer after third year, I think. James was beside himself. That's when he really stepped up the cruelty of the pranks we pulled on Snape."

Harry was frowning. "Snape showed me pictures of him and my Mum snogging in your fifth year," he said. "But I've seen some of Snape's memories. He called my Mum a mudblood that year."

Remus sighed heavily, setting a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know."

"How?" Harry asked, looking utterly bewildered. "I could never imagine calling Hermione that, and we're not as close as Snape and my Mum apparently were. How could he say that to her?"

Remus steered Harry over to the table by the fire and guided him into the chair. He flicked his wand to make some tea and sat beside the young wizard quietly.

"I don't know the specifics, Harry," he admitted. "Lily was James's obsession, not mine. What I do know is that being in Slytherin, and having a knack for the Dark Arts meant Severus caught the attention of the older students who were budding Death Eaters right from the off. And with us hounding him at every opportunity, it was expected that he'd give as good as he got and that he retaliated in kind. He was into some pretty Dark stuff, and I worried for a while that he was a bad influence on Lily, but she dismissed me when I approached her about it. They dated for a year and a half, I think. Things were fine before Christmas break in fifth year and both of them went home for the holidays. But things were bad when they returned. Like I said, I don't know the specifics, but I do know that things for Severus at home were bad, Harry. Worse than what the Dursleys put you through."

Harry paled a little.

"Snape's old man was a nasty piece of work, according to Lily. He was a muggle, and he loathed magic. Tried to beat the magic out of Severus, and his mother. He succeeded with Severus's younger twin brothers."

"What do you mean, he succeeded?" Harry asked, horrified.

"All I know is those kids were younger than Snape; tots while he was in his teens. When he went home that Christmas to see his family, he found that in a drunken fury, his father had beaten those little boys to death and knocked Snape's mum about badly enough that she was laid up in hospital all holiday."

"Blimey," Harry said, his eyes wide.

Remus nodded. "Nothing was ever proven about the boys as far as I know. Their bodies were found dumped, and mangled by local mutts about a week after their deaths, and it was a bad neighborhood, so it was put down to random violence. Snape senior was poised to get away with killing them, until Severus got home. There was never any proof, but everyone believed Severus killed the old bastard that Christmas. His mother was still in the hospital, and Lily only ever spoke of it once to say that Severus was angry and distant all holiday, and he already had a taste for Darkness. If I'd had siblings and someone killed them, I'd have ripped them apart, myself, so I can't say I'd blame him if it were true. Lily knew more. I know she believed he'd killed his own father that Christmas, and they broke up a short time after that.

"He was meaner when he returned to Hogwarts. Colder. Crueler. His mother died in hospital shortly after term resumed. He had her and his brothers buried in neighboring plots, but his father was never officially found. The Ministry looked hard at Severus – they went so far as to haul him out of school for a month and kept him locked in Azkaban during that time while they interrogated him. Even his Slytherin friends kept their distance after that, except for Lucius Malfoy. Your Mum couldn't reason with him after what happened. She couldn't even stand to be in the same room as him, some days. She was scared of him, I think. Scared of what he'd done. Scared of how much he still loved her, and how badly she'd misjudged him. She certainly stopped trying to argue that he wasn't twisted and Dark anymore, anyway."

Harry looked utterly horrified and Remus shrugged his shoulders.

"You Mum was as kind as they come, Harry. And to have broken up with Snape when he was obviously hurting over the death of his entire family, all within a month, ripped her apart. I won't lie to you, Harry. She loved him. She'd been his best friend for years even before they got together, and he was hurting over the loss of his brothers and his mother, as anyone would be. As for how he could call her a mudblood… well… After what he'd done – what he was accused of doing, anyway – and after what he'd endured, it changed him. To compound on that kind of pain with a break up, and the desertion of a friend – Snape's only true friend up until that point – it didn't go over too well. He still loved her, see? He was never hostile to her, excluding that one time, because - as you've seen - we were tossers to Snape. James was relentless after Lily ditched him. He took it too far, which pushed Lily to defend Snape, even if she was too scared of him to be his friend anymore. He lashed out when he was embarrassed and angry and hurting, as anyone would. As you, yourself, have done on more than one occasion."

Harry's cheeks darkened and he nodded slowly.

"How could he… his family…?" Harry shook his head.

Remus nodded, his mouth twisting sadly. "I can't say I blame him," Remus said quietly. "The things I'd have done to any man who could do such a thing to children – toddlers – would've paled in comparison to whatever Snape did. And there's no proof he even did it. Maybe Snape senior just ran off and ditched them all. They never found his body. He just disappeared. It's how Severus got away with it."

"And now he's out there with Hermione," Harry said quietly, clenching his fists. "Is that why Moony is on edge?"

Remus frowned.

"It shouldn't be. Like I said, this only happens when I pack-mate is in danger, and you're here, safe and sound."

"Pack bonds are transferred by blood, you said?" Harry asked.

Remus nodded.

"Would Hermione qualify?" he asked.

"She's of no relation to you or me," Remus frowned, though the thought had crossed his mind once or twice in the past that he was fond of her and she seemed to interact with him as though he were her alpha, despite her lack of lycanthropy.

"But you said you triggered it initially with a blood pact, right?" Harry said.

"You've made a blood pact with Hermione?" Remus asked, eyeing him.

"No, but I'm pretty sure our blood mingled when we were younger," Harry admitted. "If all the blood has to do is mix together through two open wounds, then I might've created a blood bond to her."

"Magic like that requires intent, usually," Remus frowned. "But I suppose it's possible that if you triggered one to her, and she's in danger, it would agitate Moony."

Harry frowned. "Do you think Snape can save her?"

Remus sipped his tea thoughtfully weighing up what he knew of Severus and what he knew of Hermione.

"He's got more hope than the rest of us," Remus said quietly. "But I don't want you to get your hopes up, Harry. Severus mentioned a Lordship ritual. If Voldemort is planning to instigate one, and captured Hermione for it, then she will either be the sacrifice that incites the magic, or the bride wedded to Severus to grant him the title."

"She'll be married or murdered, you mean?" Harry confirmed.

Remus nodded grimly.

"I think I'd rather her be murdered than to see her married to Snape," Harry muttered.

Remus frowned at him and opened his mouth, intent on scolding him for saying such a thing, but the cold, cruel voice of Severus Snape cracked across the kitchen before he could utter a single word.

"I'll be sure to remind her of that fact, Potter. Often. Every holiday, I think, should she attempt to drag me to any family gathering involving you. What would possess her to want to spend time with a wizard who obviously hopes for her suffering? To wish death upon a witch you claim is your friend is low, Potter, even for you."

"I can speak for myself, Severus," Hermione Granger's voice was like balm to the senses even as it came out sharp. She stepped into the room from behind Severus and Remus twitched when he spied her attire.

Ensconced in a brilliant silver gown and wrapped securely in Severus's Death Eater cloak, she looked the perfect bride for such a Dark and dour wizard. Her curls hung loose and wild about her shoulders, looking very much like she'd had someone running their fingers through them repeatedly. She had three lovebites on her neck, a small bruise on her jaw that looked suspiciously like a bite, and the un-doctored and still weeping gash on her wrist from what Remus suspected had been a ceremonial dagger to incite the blood-magic for the Lordship ritual.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, leaping to his feet and hurrying forward, intent on hugging her.

"You know, Harry, your words and your actions seem a little contradictory," the witch said, her tone still sharp.

Harry stopped, frowning at her as though the mere sight of her had somehow wiped his mind of the words he'd just uttered. When Hermione put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows expectantly, Remus spied the glitter of a wedding band upon her ring-finger but he couldn't find it in himself to be disappointed because she was alive and Moony was thrilled.

Hurrying forward himself, Remus took the girl in his arms and hugged her close.

"I'm pleased you're safe, Hermione," Remus told her warmly as she hugged him back, resting her forehead against his shoulder and curling her arms around him briefly. "We've been worried about you."

"Thank you, Remus," she said quietly.

Remus nodded, releasing her as the others all hurried forward, Ron being prodded awake by his mother before he spied the witch and gave a shout of joy and relief. His chair toppled over as he dashed across the kitchen toward Hermione and scooped the girl into his embrace, sweeping her right off her feet and spinning with his momentum as he clutched her to his chest like the precious loved one she was.

"Severus," Remus said, finding himself hurrying toward Severus, too. Moony was all but whining and wagging his tail with joy and Severus stiffened when Remus actually pulled the other wizard into an awkward but exuberant embrace.

"Lupin," Severus said coolly. "What do you think you're doing?"

Remus shook his head, recognizing in a heartbeat with the simple touch that whatever had occurred must've somehow linked Severus to him through a pack-bond. He'd never felt so relieved or relaxed in the Dark wizard's presence before.

"You rescued her," Remus said, pulling back and clapping Snape on the shoulder. "Thank you."

Severus narrowed his eyes, always on the lookout for a trap or a trick, but Remus had neither. He was genuinely pleased that Hermione had been returned to them, appearing unharmed and rather exasperated. His relief that she was alive, and that she wasn't terribly wounded or sobbing after being tortured, raped, or forced to do anything too horrific was overwhelming and all he could do was offer Severus a squeeze on the shoulder and a smile that probably only annoyed the dour wizard all the more.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Severus eyed the reunion of his wife and her friends with no small amount of annoyance. His magic was simmering just beneath his skin and the urge to revel in more darkness and to do bad things was almost more than he could bear. He wanted to rip Miss Granger from Weasley's arms and haul her away, despite their attendance at Headquarters being his idea.

He was overwhelmed, in general, and the effect of binding himself to the girl in matrimony, in addition to the tether upon his magic to the lands and structures of Selwyn Hall were taxing his strength and making him edgy. He was tired, he was still aroused from the effects of the ritual despite having fucked his new wife twice, and he was in no mood for company. Especially not company that consisted of an exuberant werewolf embracing him without permission, or the 'company' of the glares Molly Weasley kept throwing in his direction.

"Are you hurt?" Weasley asked of Granger when he released her from his embrace after several long minutes of simply holding her as though he'd suffered throughout every minute of her absence.

"I'm fine, Ron," Granger said, nodding and smoothing a hand over his cheek, her thumb brushing the dark circles beneath his right eye carefully.

"They didn't… torture you or… anything?" Weasley asked, looking worried and Severus almost rolled his eyes at the roundabout way of asking if the girl had been brutalized.

Granger shook her head. "They just invited me to dinner," she said. "After knocking me on the head and leaving me unconscious in a dungeon cell for three days. They even gave me a fancy dress to wear to their silly gathering."

She smoothed her hands over her dress, stepping back from Weasley casually. Severus caught the way she took three steps back, bringing herself into contact with himself, her back pressing to his front as though she were nervous before so many people. She was giving off a distinct air of not wanting any further hugs.

"Bastards," Ron swore. "But you're alright? What are those marks on your neck? Did they try to choke you?"

Granger's hand lifted to her throat before she tipped her head, meeting his gaze over her shoulder.

"Love-bites," Severus informed her coolly, rather enjoying the way she blushed, her eyes widening in horror to have him announce such a thing and to have Weasley calling attention to them.

"You did that?" Weasley asked quietly, his eyes narrowing on Severus like he might hit him.

"The alternative was that I break open her ribs, cut away her lungs, and hack out her heart, Weasley," Severus sneered coldly. "Miss Granger got away unscathed, by comparison."

"I wouldn't call it getting away," Granger said. "It's not like I did any kind of escaping. Voldemort finished with what he wanted of me and took his collection of zealots off for more reveling elsewhere, leaving me with you."

"You have sat in his presence and witnessed his capacity for cruelty and  _still_  you dare to utter that name?" Severus asked, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

"Oh, please," she rolled her eyes at him. "It's a ridiculous anagram for a perfectly normal name. Besides, fear of a name only increases fear of the thing, itself."

"You think you have no call to fear him?" Severus challenged.

"I think it would been foolish to increase that fear because of a silly anagram when there is plenty to fear without it," she replied.

"I'm beginning to doubt your cleverness, Miss Granger," he informed her coldly.

"I'm beginning to doubt your hearing, since you keep referring to me that way," she retorted snidely, and Severus heard the sharp intake of breath from the gathered members of the Order as they clustered about the kitchen, eyeing the two of them. Severus didn't know whether to be pleased they obviously knew she was treading dangerous ground by provoking him, or proud that  _she_  knew she was, and trod it just the same.

"Careful, Granger," Severus smirked, letting just a whisper of his Darkness glitter in his eyes. "I might begin to think you  _like_  being reminded that you're now my wife."

The recoil was instantaneous. Potter actually took two large steps back, his face contorting in horror at the word 'wife'. Weasley's face fell, his expression growing angry, and then resigned. Molly Weasley burst into furious tears and turned her face away into her husband's chest while Arthur looked grim, obviously having expected it, but not liking the confirmation any better for the expectation.

"You two are… married?" Potter asked, his voice laced with betrayal.

"Yes," Granger answered boldly, her left eye twitching before she turned her face from Severus to level a glare at her friend. "You needn't remind me that you'd prefer me dead, Harry."

"I wasn't… bloody hell, Hermione! That's not what I meant, but can you bloody blame me? It's Snape! You realize that, yeah? You're married to a wretched git! He's a Death Eater!"

"You know, Harry, that fact didn't elude me, given that I've just spent the evening in the direct company of Voldemort and his cohort of followers. Funnily enough, Severus's presence there was a rather large tip-off about his status as one of them," Granger replied coldly, and Severus's lips twitched into a cruel smile when he could practically hear his own acid thoughts rolling right off the girl's tongue, his magic and their rather rough night leaving her with little patience to suffer fools.

"How could you marry him?" Potter asked the question they were all thinking.

"Well, it was him or Dolohov, Harry," Granger snapped. "Sorry if my choice offends you, but I preferred to pick the wizard who made me writhe with pleasure, rather than the one who made me writhe with pain for weeks and weeks after running off to the Ministry with you."

Potter looked like he'd been slapped, and Severus almost lowered his lips to press them to her neck in praise. He would have done if he didn't think one of these tossers would try to hex him for his trouble.

"Now, while I can certainly understand that you and Snape have never had a smooth relationship, and while you've made your thoughts clear that you'd prefer to see me dead, I rather like living, Harry. Marrying Severus is a small price to pay to be allowed to continue doing so. Somehow, I don't imagine Dolohov would be so accommodating as to permit my continued breathing, you see? You're confused, and you're angry, and you can't stand the thought of me actually looking past his nastiness to have ever shagged him and gotten myself into this mess in the first place, but there's nothing for it, Harry. So, if you're going to tell me that I've betrayed your trust, and that you can't stand being my friend anymore – and I doubt continuing to do so would be in your best interests since it is likely that Voldemort  _will_  eventually want to speak with me and invade my mind, again – I can understand that. But I'd very much appreciate it if you could refrain until  _after_  Christmas because honestly, my holidays have not gone at all as I planned, and I'd really rather not make things any tenser than they already will be."

"You think sitting on the urge to call you a liar for a few days will somehow save Christmas?" Potter scoffed, his temper flaring in response to Granger's harsh tone.

"I think your opinions have been noted without you even needing to utter them, Harry. After all, you're rather predictable. So, I suppose all there is left to say is that I'm safe, I'm annoyed, and I'm leaving. Thanks for the memories and have a nice fucking life."

With that said, she turned, stepping around Severus and stomping out of the kitchen with purple sparkles of magic crackling through her wild curls.

"Hermione!" Potter snarled, calling after her and making like he might follow her.

Severus stepped into his path, blocking the way.

"I know you're impossibly thick, Potter, so allow me to translate what she just said. Fuck off and leave her alone," Severus sneer.

"This is all your fault!" Potter exploded. "You twisted, perverted, cradle-robbing bastard! If you hadn't lured her into bed with you in the first place, none of this would've happened!"

Severus rolled his eyes as the boy pulled his wand, just daring him to start a duel. He was more than ready to wipe the floor with the little brat, but before he could draw on the boy in return, Granger stormed right back into the room. The crack as her hand connected with Potter's cheek was loud, echoing in the silence that followed.

"How  _dare_  you, Harry Potter!" she hissed poisonously in Potter's face. "How dare you suggest that I'm not perfectly capable of making my own decisions and that I might be so weak willed as to let  _anyone_  seduce me? How dare you imply that I'm some brainless chit who'd just be lured into bed with a wizard as though all it takes are a few naughty lines? Believe me, the seduction was instigated by me, and it is  _none_  of your business. If you want to blame someone for my kidnapping and my marriage, you lay that blame at the feet of the sick bastard who's been trying to kill  _you_  since before you were bloody born. Don't you  _dare_  stand there, slinging accusations about things you've never experienced and obviously do  _not_  understand."

"Fine, lay the blame on Voldemort," Potter snapped. "But he wouldn't have had you dragged off and forced you to marry this arsehole if  _you_  weren't such a trollop as to have spread your legs for him in the first place!"

"Harry!" Ron tried to intervene

"No, Ron, if she wants to sneer at us over seducing this bastard, then she's a tart with wretched taste. She lied about fucking him when I confronted her about it, and now she's basically a slave to Voldemort, married to a man twice her age before she's even finished school and likely to end up some Death Eater's whore who'll have to fuck Snape and all his pals in Voldemort's service. Happy, Hermione? Aren't you pleased you got to be teacher's pet for a night?"

Granger's hair crackled as she stepped closer to Potter, moving in until they stood nose to nose.

"You know what, Harry?" she asked, the shrill rage leaving her tone and being replaced with a low, almost husky purr that made Severus's cock twitch. "I spent my evening goading a known murderer and psychopath, surrounded by some of the very worst people within our society. I also cut out a witch's heart, tonight. I clenched that heart in my fist until it stopped beating before I dropped it in the snow and left it for the wolves to feast on. It was hot to touch, and it twitched in my hand before the blood and the life drained out of it. I cracked open someone's ribs with my bare hands and I listened to that wretched bitch scream as she died. I spent three days unconscious and may or may not have been repeatedly raped during that time. Do you  _really_  think there is  _anything_  you can say to me that would be worse? Are you actually arrogant enough to think that you calling me a slut hurts, anymore? I've got a rip in my soul thanks to the life I took, and it throbs and aches like you can't even possibly begin to imagine.

"There is  _nothing_  you can say or do that would be worse than that, Harry Potter. So, go ahead. Hate me. Shout about what a slut I must be, and what a stupid thing you think I did, and what a mess it landed me in. Sneer the words 'I told you so' until you're blue in the face and until that fury pulsing inside your skull stops fizzing. Retract your friendship even though there have been times when I was the  _only_  person who stood by you, no matter what. All of that is nothing compared the things I've endured, and the things I've done. There is nothing  _you_  can do that will cut me deeper than I've cut myself. Talk to me if you ever regain what little sense you had."

She turned on her heel and stomped away after that, her hand snagging around Severus's wrist and tugging on his arm, pulling him in her wake as she exited the quiet kitchen and left Potter standing there looking somehow wrathful and impotent at the same time. Severus smirked just a little, letting the witch pull him away since he had no interest in arguing with Potter or being interrogated by the Weasleys.

She pulled him up a flight of stairs, past the screaming portrait of Walburga Black, and down a long corridor. Flinging open a bedroom door, she stomped inside and Severus followed her in, watching her stalk to where her school trunk stood at the end of an unrumpled bed. He frowned when she scooped up a large ball of orange fluff from the end of the bed and deposited the squirming feline into his arms before wrangling her trunk right back out the door.

Severus narrowed his eyes on the cat when the beast growled at him, baring his teeth at the ugly creature as he followed his wife from the room and back down the stairs.

"Hermione, don't go," Weasley said, catching her in the hallway before they could reach the door.

"Ron, I'm really not in the mood to fight," she said.

"Good thing I don't want to fight then, yeah?" he said. "Look, it's Christmas. Or it will be just as soon as everyone gets some sleep. You've had a rough go of it, and we just got you back. Where are you going to go? I know Harry's been a bloody sod, but we expect that, yeah? He'll blow off some steam, realize what a twat he is, and apologize like usual."

"Well maybe an apology isn't going to help, Ronald," the witch snapped. "I wasn't exaggerating in there. I'm infected with Dark magic, now, and it's all I can do to only snarl at him when this wretched pulse in my soul is telling me that I should make him pay until he screams like I want to scream. I'm no longer safe for you to be around, and so I will leave. I'll return to Selwyn Hall, with Snape, and I'll figure things out."

"But I just got you back," Ron protested, frowning sadly.

"You got  _something_  back," Granger said quietly. "But it's not the girl you know and love. Look, I don't like it, but tonight changes everything. I'm a liability now, to the Order and to you and Harry. Voldemort wants Harry dead more than he wants just about everything. Being Harry's friend is about to become an occupational hazard – more than it already was. I don't want to be tortured to share Harry's plans with that bastard, and I won't be the tool he uses to unravel Harry, and unravel the Order. He can't interrogate me about Harry if I'm no longer associating with Harry."

"You can't just… leave us," Ron frowned. "We're friends, Hermione. Best friends. Thick and thin, remember? Love and friendship conquers all, and all that jazz, you know? I know you're upset, and that Harry's a right fucking twat, but we need you. We love you. Don't leave."

Severus shook his head at the positively ridiculous idea that they might overcome the Dark Lord's plans and intentions through the strength of their friendship, alone.

"I have to, Ron," she said. "I've engaged the lordship ritual with Severus. I'm Lady of Selwyn Hall. I'm his wife. I belong there, now."

"And... what? We never see you again?" Ron asked, frowning. "What happens now? Are you coming back tomorrow for Christmas dinner? I mean, you got married and you've got that weird urge to be 'home' that Mum and Dad get about the Burrow, because of the claim you have on it, so go and sleep there if you have to, but what about after? What about at Hogwarts? Married or not, you're still a student and this whole thing will be less public and less trouble if you keep acting like one. Nothing says you have to share quarters just because you're married."

Severus raised his eyebrows, surprised that the boy was taking it all so well, given his past relationship with Granger and his dislike for Severus. He had rather expected, given their torrid sexual history and apparent closeness, that Weasley would give her grief about being married to him at all, and that he would fight tooth and nail to insist upon finding a way to undo their vows and to keep her away from him.

"I don't know, Ron," Granger said softly, sounding pained. "It's something I'll have to discuss with Severus and, I imagine, with Dumbledore and the other members of faculty."

She glanced up at Severus to confirm this and he nodded sharply.

"And everything else?" Ron asked.

Granger's shoulders slumped slightly and the cat in Severus's arms squirmed before the girl released a very soft sob.

"I don't know, Ron," she whispered. "I guess we'll just all have to figure it out."

"Well, my vote is that we go on with everything as though nothing has changed," Weasley said and Severus raised his eyebrows. "I mean, not that much has, if you really think about it. You're still a student, he's still a teacher, we're all still part of the Order, and we're all still at war. So, you got married and given a house. So, what? No one needs to know you're married or where you live, and you two were already getting away with shagging without being caught. Keep doing whatever you were doing to avoid detection if you still want to shag, and everything else will be as normal."

"Except that Harry thinks I'm a tart and will pick fights and throw tantrums."

"Harry always picks fights and throws tantrums, love," Ron reminded her. "Ans as soon as you leave, I plan to bloody his nose for calling you a tart, and to beat him to a pulp until he stops being such a prick. And then he'll apologize, and it'll all be fine."

"Ron, I murdered Dolores Umbridge tonight," Granger admitted fearfully. "Nothing is fine."

"Fuck!" Weasley said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, it couldn't have happened to a nicer person, I guess."

Severus snorted, amused despite himself, and Weasley glanced at him for a moment, blue eyes tracing over his face as though weighing the merit of addressing him personally.

"Are my parents here, Ron?" Granger asked, changing the subject before Weasley could work up the courage to speak to Severus.

"Nah. Dumbledore reckoned they'd be in danger if we revealed the location of headquarters to them. He and Remus went by and told them you'd had a small accident and were being kept at school over the holidays for your health. They don't know anything about this. Safer, you know?"

Severus watched Granger relax inestimably as she sighed in relief.

"Thank Merlin," she said.

"Miss Granger, if you are planning to travel with me back to Selwyn Hall this evening, might I suggest we hurry? It's almost two in the morning and I will still be required to meet with Dumbledore and likely the Dark Lord before this wretched evening can come to an end."

She glanced at him.

"We have to see him again so soon?" she asked, frowning.

"I do," he said curtly. " _You_  will be sent off to bed and tucked away, entirely too exhausted to possibly be in his presence for the remainder of the holidays."

"Trying to keep me out of his clutches?" she asked.

"I did make an Unbreakable Wedding Vow to protect you, Miss Granger."

"You really need to stop calling me that," she said. "I'm your wife now, not your student."

Severus sniffed disdainfully.

"Miss Granger, you will be a student in comparison to me until we are both too old to even recall the word 'Hogwarts'."

"Is this another complex you have regarding the age difference between us?" she wanted to know, her lips twitching as though she were grateful for the distraction from heavier topics.

"If you wish to view it as such, I will not stop you," Severus replied.

"What other way might I view it?" she wanted to know.

"That even if you were to literally absorb every textbook within the walls of Hogwarts library, there would still be plenty of things I would know that you would not, and you will, undoubtedly, still irritate me with ridiculous questions at every opportunity like the utterly insufferable know-it-all you happen to be."

Severus smirked when she narrowed her eyes on him, while Weasley looked gobsmacked.

"Remind me again how you two ended up shagging and in this mess if he talks to you like that, Hermione," Weasley said.

Granger chuckled, wiping her eyes before she shot him a wry smile that seemed genuinely affectionate. Severus fought the urge to take a large step back, lest she attempt to cuddle him, or some other horrid expression of friendliness he had no interest in.

"I couldn't explain it to you if I tried, Ron," she told her friend, and Severus rolled his eyes.

"I can," he interrupted. "This mess occurred because  _you_ , stubborn and dunderheaded witch that you happen to be, refused to vacate my presence when it was in your best interests to do so."

"You're blaming me?" she raised her eyebrows, though she didn't look overly annoyed. "You were the one naked."

"You were the one who stripped me," Severus retorted, loathing himself just a little for genuinely enjoying the banter they traded.

"I was trying to heal you, to keep you from bleeding to death."

"A wretched favour I wish you hadn't performed," Severus sneered.

" _You_  were the one whose cock had to get involved and it was you threading your fingers through my hair."

"You had your head in my lap," Severus retorted, smirking when he noticed the way Weasley's ears turned red.

"To heal your wounded thigh and repair your femoral artery so you wouldn't die," she said. "If you'd been wearing undergarments, like a normal person, I wouldn't have had to see you naked and none of this would've happened."

"You're saying it was my nudity you found irresistible?" Severus asked, smirking wickedly, hoping she might stammer in response.

"Well, it certainly wasn't your charm," she retorted instead, entirely too dirk-tongued with his magic flitting about inside her.

"You've never experienced my charm," Severus said. "I assure you, it  _is_  irresistible."

"I'll believe that when I see it," she said, her lips twitching.

"You know, I think I'm going to go," Weasley interrupt, looking like he might be ill. "Before Snape flips his lid and somehow assigns holiday detention because you keep provoking him."

"Given what he does to me during detention, I can't say I blame you, Ron," Hermione practically purred and it was Severus's turn to blush, just a little.

"And I'm done," Weasley declared. "Why must you overshare? I love you, and your secrets are all mine to keep, but for the love of Merlin, woman,  _that_  was a mental image I could've done without."

"Don't be a baby, Ronald," Granger chided, her spirits lifting the longer she spent bantering with the two of them. Severus shook his head, supposing that the witch was braver than he'd realized, and far more incorrigible than any witch had a right to be.

"Leaving," Ron said. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

Hermione glanced up at Severus and raised her eyebrows.

"Don't look at me like that," Severus sneered. "I'm not your keeper, Miss Granger."

"You could come by Selwyn Hall," Granger suggested to Weasley. "I'll send my patronus when it's all clear, in case Voldemort shows up unexpectedly and tries to take you prisoner, too. But you could come by. You can help me decorate."

"I'm suddenly remembering holiday homework I was issued," Weasley said, looking like decorating might kill him. Severus didn't blame him.

"You'd better have your Defence Against the Dark Arts essay finished by the time term resumes, Mr Weasley, or you might find yourself in detention after all."

"If you give me the same treatment as her, I'll scream," Weasley retorted before he paled so quickly when he realized who he'd just sassed that his freckles stood out starkly in contrast.

Severus glared down his nose at the younger wizard while Granger began to giggle, entirely too overwrought after the evening she'd had and finding too much humour in the idea of her ex-lover teasing her husband.

"Well," Severus said archly. " _She_  certainly screams, so I don't see why you wouldn't, Weasley."

"And I'm going to be sick," Weasley declared. "I'll never get that mental image out of my head. Where's Harry, maybe I'll let the prick get in a few good punches when we scrap. Maybe a concussion will knock that mental scarring loose."

Granger giggled harder and Severus shook his head.

"Severus, wait!" Lupin suddenly called down the hall, hurrying out of the kitchen when he spied them still standing in the hallway.

Severus immediately began walking for the door, in no mood to be lectured.

"Severus!" Lupin called, laughing when he realized Severus was trying to avoid him.

"If you attempt to hug me again, Lupin, you will regret it," Severus warned the werewolf when he caught him by the elbow and stopped him in his tracks.

Lupin held up his hands in surrender, glancing at Weasley and Granger for a moment before looking back at Severus. Narrowing his eyes, Severus waited, wondering what the git could possibly want. No doubt he planned to lecture him about propriety and not fucking his students, and Severus was hardly in the mood for such things.

"Is she safe?" Lupin asked quietly. "Will Voldemort attempt to use her against Harry and the Order?"

Severus looked over at his young new wife where she was in the process of scolding her best friend for continuing to tease her about shagging him, obviously trying to lighten her mood.

"He will attempt to put her not inconsiderable cleverness to use in one way or another," Severus allowed. "She made the mistake this evening of capturing his attention by proving that she had far too much courage, despite the considerable good-sense to match. He is… intrigued. He does not usually suffer certain things, but he allowed her to get away with referring to him as 'Tom', as he hasn't allowed anyone to do since fashioning the title for himself that wizards all over Britain fear to utter. She was rude, arrogant, spiteful, witty, and impossibly sarcastic, and he allowed it."

"For the sake of wedding her to you for the ritual?" Lupin asked, frowning. "Surely making you Lord of Selywn Hall doesn't gain him so very much as to allow such things?"

Severus's lips thinned. "No," he sighed, "I don't believe he was merely interested in using her as tool to hand me a title and an estate."

"You have a theory?" Lupin asked quietly.

Severus glanced at the pretty, young witch and his lips twisted into a frown.

"She has her uses to the Dark Lord. She is closely connected to Potter, and she is well-thought of by her teachers. There were easier targets to capture that would've fulfilled his need for a witch I'd already fucked just to give me a title. There is something about her, in particular, that he wants, but none of the theories I've considered seem right. He disdains muggles and muggleborns, and he already has me to pass him information about the Order. So what purpose can she serve to further his plans for conquering the magical world and enslaving the muggle one?"

Remus frowned at him.

"She's terribly clever," he offered. "Perhaps he needs her to research something?"

"He has others already in his service for that," Severus frowned.

"Will she be safe, relocating to Selwyn Hall with you?" Remus asked him quietly, obviously giving up on trying to unravel the Dark Lord's plans.

"You doubt me?" Severus asked, sneering at the werewolf.

"I doubt Voldemort will leave her be," Remus argued. "And I doubt she's wrong about the merit of discontinuing association with Harry when it might see her killed."

"If the Dark Lord wants her dead, no knowledge of Potter will protect her," Severus said quietly.

"Just the same," Remus said. "She is a liability now. Harry has enough trouble resisting his own Darkness, without another Darkened soul potentially leading him astray."

"You imagine her to be a bad influence?" Severus raised his eyebrows.

"I imagined her to be a lot of things," Remus said. "And I have been proved wrong."

"You disapprove of her association with me," Severus sneered, curling his lip at the werewolf in annoyance. "You, the sorry git chasing a witch thirteen years your junior."

"It's not her age comparative to ours that I disapprove," Lupin said sharply, narrowing his eyes. "She's mature for her age and sharp enough to keep up with you. But she is your student, Severus. Need I remind you of that? You had a responsibility to ensure her education and her safety whilst at Hogwarts."

"I expect her education is more well-rounded in certain branches of magic now than it was before shagging me," Severus drawled, loathing the fact that it was impossible to look imposing and cruel whilst clutching an oversized fluffball.

Remus narrowed his eyes on him.

"How did this happen?"

"How did she and I end up fucking?" Severus clarified, smirking when the werewolf flinched at his language. "She was somewhere she shouldn't have been, and I was attempting to bleed out after the Dark Lord set Greyback upon me. She happened to patch me up and she happened to have taken something of an interest in my anatomy when I was too inebriated with Occlumency and whiskey to recall the impropriety of such actions in accordance with our stations and ages. In any case, there is nothing for it now. She is my wife."

Lupin eyed him carefully, trying to figure him out and Severus almost rolled his eyes at the very idea.

"Do you plan to be your usual acerbic self when dealing with this turn of events?" he enquired.

"I have no intention of murdering her," he offered.

"She's just a child, Severus," Remus growled. "You cannot unleash the full repertoire of cruelty you possess upon the poor girl when she is little more than a victim of circumstance."

"She made her choices, Lupin," Severus shrugged. "She chose to fuck me that night, even when I tried to order her away. She chose to loiter in my storerooms long after curfew awaiting my returning from a Death Eater meeting. She chose to cooperate with the Dark Lord enough to attend tonight's feast, and she chose to marry me over marrying Dolohov or attempting to escape. She chose to take the dagger when I offered it to her and she was not forced into uttering her vows."

"She was kidnapped and dragged before a megalomaniac against her will where the least hostile person in the room was you. You were her only ally. What choice did she have but to cooperate and to marry you?"

"She could've chosen Dolohov," Severus shrugged. "She could have chosen death. She could've attempted to escape when she was handed her wand during dinner. She was at no point held under the Imperius or the Criciatus curse, and she was at no point even threatened at wand-point. The only hex cast tonight was from her wand, and it was aimed at Draco for his part in detaining her to allow Dolohov's capture in the first place."

"Severus," Lupin began hotly, frowning now. "I understand that you had as little say in all this as she did, but…"

"I had plenty of choices too, Lupin," Severus interrupted. "I could've chosen to curse the Dark Lord, or to murder Granger, or to marry Carrow, or to have ingested poison and removed myself from this life. I could've defied the Dark Lord and paid for it with my life. I could've insisted on scaring her off, rather than fucking her prior to this evening's debacle."

"You  _want_  to be married to her?" Remus asked, incredulous.

"More than I want to be dead," Severus shrugged. "I am not thrilled about passing on my wretched father's name, and I'm not thrilled at the end of my solitude and peace without endless questions, and felines, and one bushy-haired know-it-all, but I  _had_  other options."

"And they say romance is dead," Granger drawled, sneaking up behind him with her trunk and eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Need I remind you that I carried you across the threshold at your request, despite the fact that you are heavier than you look, Miss Granger?" Severus drawled without looking at the witch.

"My god, you're not even forty and already you're complaining about a bad back," she needled in retort and Severus watched Lupin's eyes widen in surprise at her audacity.

"Hermione, are you feeling quite alright?" he asked, frowning at the witch. Severus rolled his eyes.

"I'm a little hungry, actually," Granger admitted. "And tired. Who knew being unconscious for three days would be this taxing?"

Lupin raised his eyebrows at her flippant reply.

"Did you imagine her as little more than a clever little walking textbook with big hair and no capacity for sass?" Severus smirked at the werewolf.

"I'm channeling him," Granger jerked her thumb in Severus's direction. "Sorry, Remus. The core fusion tends to muddle my personality and I definitely overdosed this evening."

"And I haven't even finished with you, yet," Severus muttered before he could think better of it, his eyes trailing over her petite form inside her gleaming wedding gown.

Lupin's eyes widened at the utterance and Severus decided he'd had just about enough of this oversharing tendency of Miss Granger's and would be best suited removing himself from all company.

"You share a matching magical core?" Lupin asked of Granger.

"Oh," she said. "Yes. Did I forget to mention that part?"

"Omitted it, more like," Severus said over his shoulder. "Come,  _wife_. Before your tendency to overshare gets us in any more trouble."

"I am perfectly capable of minding my tongue, thank you," she retorted. "You're the one blurting out things you shouldn't."

"Core fusion is really rare, Severus," Lupin said unhelpfully as Severus stomped for the door.

"I am aware," he said without looking back. "Miss Granger, come along, or find your own way home."

He almost bit his tongue when he realized he'd just referred to Selwyn Hall as 'home', something she obviously caught if her indrawn little gasp of surprise was anything to go by. Refusing to look back, Severus stomped out the door and stood on the top step, listening to the sound of the girl pulling her trunk as she hurried to catch up.

"Are you coming by for Christmas dinner, Hermione?" Ron called before she could leave.

"We agreed you're coming over to help me decorate, Ron," the witch said.

"And what am I to do with Harry?" he wanted to know.

"If you haven't beaten him bloody, and he's pulled that bloody stick out of his arse, bring him along," the girl said crassly, stepping around in front of him and turning him slightly with one hand on his sleeve, pulling him around to face her before curling her arms around his, which were full of her loudly purring familiar.

"Right," Weasley muttered. "Well, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then? It'd be easier if you came back here, you know?"

"We'll figure it out tomorrow, Ron," Granger rolled her eyes.

"Are you ready?" Severus asked, bored.

"Wait!" Potter shouted, hurrying into view at the end of the corridor behind Lupin and Weasley.

Severus glanced in his direction and caught the way Granger did, too. Her expression twisted, as though she were considering hearing out whatever else the wretched boy had to say. Severus didn't give her the option. Twisting sharply, he disapparated them both with a crack.


	18. Chapter 18

Hermione hissed when Crookshanks dug his claws into her arms and scampered over her shoulder, streaking away with an angry yowl after having been apparated to his new home.

"Blast it all, Crookshanks!" she growled after the grumpy cat. "That was rude!"

She stuck her wrist into her mouth where the cat had torn open the gash Voldemort had cut into her arm, sucking at the beads of blood that welled to the surface before they could stain her dress or drip onto the carpet.

"You did that on purpose," she accused, glancing up at Snape when he proceeded to flick his wand, attempting to rid his robes of red fur as though he hadn't just snatched her away when Harry had obviously been wanting to talk to her.

"I am in no mood for listening to any more of Potter's immature and pathetic tantrums," Snape sneered unapologetically.

"It was your idea to go over there in the first place," she mumbled, sighing as she brushed some fur from her robes too, before glancing over her shoulder to make sure Crookshanks wasn't getting into mischief.

Severus narrowed his dark eyes on her for a moment as though annoyed with her for the comment when she'd been the one to insist on going after he'd declared it foolhardy when they were both being affected by the other's magic. Hermione narrowed hers in return, and he stared her down before snatching her wrist out of her mouth and began inspecting it stoically. His frown deepened when he noted the way the cut continued to well with blood, Crookshanks's claws having dug deep into the wound.

"Come," he commanded, pulling her by the elbow in the direction of the bedroom. At least, she thought it was that direction. The house was so large that she couldn't be sure. She would have to explore tomorrow just to learn her way around the enormous structure.

Despite the theme of the mansion, she couldn't help noticing that someone had clearly taken the care to try and make it feel as homey as possible. There might've been nothing in the cupboards, but as Snape escorted her through a large sitting room, she spied the roaring hearth fire, and a mammoth Christmas tree that almost put the ones in the Great Hall at Hogwarts to shame. She felt a little thrum of pleasure and magic slide along her senses when she smoothed her free hand over the doorframe when Snape didn't pause to explore the house, or to admire the lavishly decorated sitting room.

"Is yours bleeding, too?" she asked when he led her up three flights of stairs and down a long corridor that she vaguely recognized.

Snape twisted his arm a little, revealing that his own wound was bloodied, but seemed to have stopped oozing blood. She frowned at him a little, noting that he seemed somewhat annoyed, though she couldn't fathom why. Things at Headquarters hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd anticipated and Hermione sighed softly, relieved once more that her parents hadn't been notified of this new turn of events. It would be much easier to introduce them to the idea of her being married if she had time to warm them up to it. She would be able to work on them throughout the year with letters indicating that she was interested in someone, and then dating someone, and eventually, if Snape played along, they could stage a meeting and feign an engagement.

She doubted they would bat an eye over his age compared to hers, but they might balk at the idea of her jumping into – or being forced into – something so serious with such haste. Her parents had both always been very careful people. They examined their options, they weighed their decisions for pros and cons, and they carefully made each decision as required. The idea of her being forced into a marriage so young with a man she might happen to have enjoyed shagging a few times, without having the chance to properly get to know him, or to even court him, would ruffle their feathers, she was sure.

"We probably should've seen to these cuts before going to headquarters," Hermione offered, frowning when Snape remained silent as he tugged her along in the direction of the bedroom, though she couldn't for the life of her fathom what he meant to do about her bleeding wrist when they reached it that he couldn't do in the corridor. They didn't have any belongings unpacked within the bedroom, yet. She pulled her trunk along behind her, levitating it as she went, and her dress rustled softly with every step, her heels clicking in the long, echoing halls.

Hermione felt rather self-conscious, as she hadn't all evening, when it occurred to her that despite how loud she was, Severus was silent. He moved with lithe grace, and without his outer cloak – which hung about her own shoulders and dragged on the ground in her wake – he didn't billow as he usually did at Hogwarts. His boots barely whispered upon the hardwood floors of the Hall and Hermione frowned, trying to emulate his ability to move so quietly. She almost tripped in her high-heels for her trouble, too, and had Severus not been gripping her elbow firmly, she felt sure she'd had fallen on her face when her shoes got tangled in the skirts of her dress.

Snape was silent as he pulled her into the bedroom, and then all the way into the dimly lit bathroom, where he ran the tap of the sink and rinsed the blood from her cut before lifting it to his face, inspecting it carefully.

"Are you in pain?" he asked eventually when Hermione began to fidget, feeling him probe the wound with his magic, exploring the damage and attempting to knit the flesh back together, if the itching was anything to go by.

"It itches when you do that," she offered.

"Not from this," he said, eyeing her like she were thick and Hermione frowned at him.

"I'm not wounded anywhere else," she said, wondering if the late hour and the strenuous casting she'd been doing had fogged her brain.

"Are you suffering any discomfort after the way I fucked you, Granger?" he clarified, his voice tight and controlled, his posture rigid as he eyed her.

"Oh," she said, blushing at the direct question. "Erm…"

She frowned, focusing on her body for a moment and finding that she was, in fact, quiet sore.

"Yes," she admitted. "A bit."

"Don't downplay anything," he warned her. "Bravery will only see you suffering needlessly all evening."

Hermione sighed.

"It's not unbearable. I've had worse PMT cramps," she assured him. "But it's not pleasant, either. You were a little rough."

His face was blank of all expression, even as he nodded in agreement, looking neither remorseful, or sympathetic, but not like he reveled in her suffering, either.

"I may have briefly allowed myself to relinquish all control," he admitted, and Hermione couldn't help thinking that it must've been a very long time since he'd last allowed himself to do so.

"Yes, I noticed," Hermione deadpanned.

"Drink this," he said, fishing a phial of Pain Potion from his pocket and handing it to her.

Hermione didn't bother arguing, she just took the phial and gulped it down while he used his wand to conjure a bandage for the gash on her wrist – magic failing to heal it when it'd been inflicted with a ceremonial dagger. He took it back, tucking the empty phial into his pocket when it was gone, and Hermione watched him as he made to turn away.

She caught his hand before he could stalk off out of the bathroom, and he turned to her with narrowed eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded quietly, and Hermione wasn't at all sure she liked the way he was beginning to look very much like the wretched and wrathful teacher who so terrified his students. She wondered what it said about her that she feared him less when he was fully and wickedly the Death Eater, when the Darkness glittered in his eyes and he did positively depraved things.

Guiding his hand gently, Hermione rinsed his cut under the warm water of the sink, watching him as he watched her, noting the way he began to scowl as though he were unaccustomed to having anyone try to help him. Probing the wound with her magic, she watched his face for any sign that he was in pain as she did what little she could to heal it. When she'd done all she could, she pulled out her wand, conjuring bandages to secure the small cut and keep him from tearing it open or getting it infected.

"Thank you for healing me," she offered into the silence that followed as the last of the conjured bandage secured itself about his wrist. "And for the Pain Potion."

He nodded sharply, his eyes narrowed as though suspicious of her politeness. Hermione held his gaze, wondering what to say. She was unaccustomed to feeling like this. Every other time spent in his presence had either been in the capacity as his student within the classroom, and as his snarky and eager lover. Both past interaction types had the singular thing in common that they were fleeting and that when the allotted time for each activity had passed, they parted ways and went about their lives with little thought for the other.

But now, she was his wife.

Hermione didn't know how she felt about it, if she was being completely truthful. She wasn't thrilled that she'd gotten married at just barely seventeen, but the alternatives didn't bear thinking about.

"I…" Hermione began, before frowning and closing her mouth when she noticed the way he was looking at her.

He eyed her with a strange mixture of annoyance, exasperation, curiosity, and a distinct disaffected gleam as though he didn't care about her one iota, and yet had found himself saddled with her. Indeed, it was the expression one might wear upon the discovery of a wart upon one's person. The kind that found you both aching to remove the growth, yet knowing that doing so would be ineffective, painful, and messy.

"What happens now?" Hermione asked, squaring her shoulders and deciding that a straightforward approach would be best at navigating this unchartered territory with him.

"Now, I meet with Dumbledore," he informed her. "And you remove that dress from your person."

"Does it have to happen in that order?" she asked before she could think better of it. "I'd really rather have you assist me in removing it."

He narrowed his eyes before his lips twitched, amused.

"You were just complaining of the unpleasant sensations emitting from your womb after my past treatment of you, Miss Granger," he reminded her. "I hardly think that another ravishing will cure that."

"No, it would make it worse," she sighed, frowning. "It'd probably be worth it, though."

This time he actually laughed, a low, husky sound that made her quiver needily. Hermione smiled at him, wondering if he would do it.

"Turn around," he instructed quietly, and Hermione did as she was bid, turning and realizing he meant to unlace her dress once more. Gathering the hair hanging about her shoulders, his fingers were cold as they trailed lightly across the back of her neck. Hermione shivered at the touch, breathing out slowly and relaxing into him as his hands slipped around her neck, unfastening the bright silver toggles of the cloak hanging about her shoulders.

She watched him in the mirror, finding his eyes upon her as he carefully slid the cloak off her shoulders, gathering it and giving it a little flick before securing it about his own shoulders instead. Hermione frowned just a little, realizing he meant to help her with the laces of her corset before leaving her.

"You're not staying?" she asked.

"I must meet with Dumbledore," Severus said quietly. "He will be expecting me, awaiting news of your fate and, undoubtedly, intending to scold me for what we've done."

"Should I accompany you?" Hermione asked quietly, wondering if things might be easier to explain if they were there together.

"No," he shook his head, surprising her when he leaned in carefully and pressed his lips to the side of her neck as his clever fingers worked the laces of her dress free. "You have a way of complicating things, Miss Granger. It will be easier to remind Dumbledore of my usefulness to the Order without you getting in the way in some attempt to defend my honour, or your own."

Hermione shook her head at him. "Are you going to call me that forever?" she asked softly. "You're more than welcome to call me by my name, Severus."

"If you wish to hide this turn of events from your peers at Hogwarts, it would behoove you to refer to me as 'Professor Snape', as you have in the past," he said, trailing his lips over her neck and unlacing her dress, his obsidian eyes fixed upon her seriously. "Should you allow yourself to slip into the habit of referring to me as 'Snape', 'Severus', or anything else, you will undoubtedly slip up and call me by such a name in the presence of your classmates and I will either be forced to punish you, or you will be left to explain to them that you are married to the school's least favourite and least friendly member of faculty."

"You would prefer to hide our… relationship?" she asked, frowning as she searched for the right word. "Marriage? Involvement?"

He lifted his head slowly, his eyes still locked onto hers as he unthreaded the corset she wore until it hung loose from her chest.

"I am a Death Eater, Hermione," he said, surprising her with the directness of the admission and the use of her first name. "I am not a good man, and I have a bad reputation. To associate yourself with me in the public eye by referring to yourself as my wife, or even by claiming our… involvement… will not do you any favours. We are at war within the wizarding world and I tread a precarious knife-edge between Light and Dark. I am a spy. I am a liar. I am a wretch. I am dangerous. I am a murderer, a sadist, a rapist, and a masochist. That is the man to whom you are now married, and that is how I am perceived in the eyes of our world. You will be tarnished by mere association, and it is in no one's best interests to sow doubt among those who would oppose the Dark Lord. They must not be allowed to think that you have succumbed to Darkness when you are a symbol for the Light."

Hermione frowned at him.

"But I'm a murderer, too," she whispered, and his eyes flashed in the low light.

"You are," he nodded. "But there are few who know it, and it would behoove you to keep it that way. Do not tell anyone besides those who already know."

"I can hardly keep secrets about our marriage and my role in all this when the entire collection of Death Eaters and many of the Order are aware of my capture and my return," Hermione pointed out.

"The Death Eaters, you will find," he drawled softly, "Are actually a rather loyal bunch. Cut-throats, criminals and cads, we may be, but it is a rare thing that we turn on each other. As the Sorting Hat's line so aptly goes In Slytherin, you will make real friends. Now that you and I are married – and by the Dark Lord's will – it is highly unlikely that you will be in danger from the brethren unless the Dark Lord decides to eliminate you. We Slytherins have a healthy respect for each other's boundaries and possessions. As a muggleborn, you have limited status or worth in their eyes, but they are unlikely to lay a hand on you when they will consider you to be mine. They will certainly torment you, provoke you, and perhaps even test you to see how well you duel or how you handle your emotions by picking fights, instigating duels, or saying things to unsettle you, but it would be highly out of character for any of them to fear my wrath so little as to openly and viciously attack you to the point of causing you lasting harm. We Death Eaters do not betray one another's trust in such a manner."

"But you're betraying all of those friends in your attempts to stop the Dark Lord," she said quietly, holding his gaze, trying to fathom what he was saying.

His lips twisted, and his frown deepened, making his visage less attractive than it already was and somehow highlighting the hooked shape of his nose.

"Am I?" he asked softly.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, a whisper of doubt coiling through her.

"Are you not?" she asked in return.

He looked like he'd swallowed something foul.

"On days like today, I don't even know," he admitted, so softly that she almost didn't catch his words and might've imagined that he'd said them had she not seen his reflection move as he spoke.

"Because you liked killing Umbridge?" Hermione asked softly, knowing that he had.

He nodded.

"I enjoyed killing her," he said. "I enjoy corrupting you, too. I do not abhor the company of my brethren, Miss Granger. Never forget that. I might've sworn an oath to stop the Dark Lord, because the many rips in his soul have left him beyond humanity and entirely unconscionable, with naught but a thirst for power and his own selfishness to guide him; but the men and women we dined with this evening are my friends. Do you understand? The familiarity and closeness you share with Potter and Weasley is the same form of friendship I share with Lucius and Narcissa. With Dolohov and Carrow. With Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. With Crabbe, and Goyle, and Rockwood and Rowle. They are my friends and I have done things for them, as they have for me, that are beyond your most terrifying nightmares."

"Then why are you betraying them all?" she asked quietly, not even sure she wanted to know, but intrigued and confused in equal measure to the point that she couldn't keep silent.

"Am I betraying them?" Severus asked softly. "Or am I saving them? Does this thrumming Darkness inside my chest that tingles even when I commit acts of Light and goodness make me less their friend, or more? Am I a well-disguised hero? Or just a deceitful villain?"

"I suppose that depends on your definition of friendship, and of betrayal," Hermione said. "If your goal for unravelling the hold Voldemort has on the world is designed with plans for rescuing your friends from his influence, then you are saving them. If your intent is merely to bring about the death of a mad-man, no matter the cost, and regardless of those you might hurt in the process, then it is a betrayal of the Dark Lord you swore to serve, and of the friends that will be caught in the crossfire as this war unfolds."

Snape looked pensive for a moment, holding her gaze in the mirror even as he peeled open the back of her gown once more, his hands cool against her warm skin as he smoothed them lightly over her shoulders and down her arms. Hermione offered him a small, reassuring sort of smile, realizing that the effect of her magic upon him had caused this strange lapse in his usual stoicism.

"Are you going to be alright going to Dumbledore and then meeting with the Dark Lord again?" she asked him. "My magic is affecting you and making you overshare. You don't want to risk blurting out to Voldemort that you know about his Horcruxes and are planning to betray him and see him killed."

His mouth twitched as he pried her corset from her flesh, pushing down the top of the dress until the skirts clung about her waist and her breasts were exposed. Hermione met his gaze in the mirror boldly, making no move to hide her body from him, and Severus lowered his eyes slowly, tracing them over her flesh with a strangely curious lust.

"I am not unaccustomed to lying through my teeth to both of my masters, Granger," he said quietly, answering her question even as he smoothed his hands over her bare shoulders and down her sides, his fingers skimming over the dip of her waist and smoothing down to snag into the skirts of her dress. She watched him slowly push against the fabric, forcing it down over her hips, and watching it slither the length of her body to puddle around her feet.

"I'm sure it's more easily done when you don't have to contend with the urge say things you ordinarily wouldn't," she said softly. "I'd hate to find myself a widow, mere hours after being wed."

"It would be in your best interests if you were," he said quietly, smoothing his hands up and down her sides as though simply enjoying the silkiness of her skin. Hermione quivered under the touch, wondering if there was any way she'd be able to lure him into bed with her, rather than having him leave, even if he did need to rush off and meet with Dumbledore.

"I don't think so," Hermione said, watching the way his eyes darted back to hers in the mirror, widening slightly at the admission.

"I was not attempting to frighten you before the brethren this evening when I said that you would not enjoy being my wife, Hermione," Severus said very softly. "I am not an easy man to live with. I am cold and cruel, and positively wretched company, most of the time."

"I know," Hermione said, smirking a little when he narrowed his eyes on her for the agreement. "But I'm not so easy to live with, either. I am, as you so often point out, insufferable. I am logical to the point of insensitivity; I get extremely bitchy when afflicted with moon-sickness; I'm something of a perfectionist when it comes to academia and the proper respect one ought to afford to education and to sources of knowledge. I whine, and I nag, and I can be downright vindictive when someone crosses me."

"Perhaps," he allowed. "But I don't recall ever watching you spray venom over those who might be considered friend merely because they have annoyed you."

"You did see my fight with Harry this evening, yes?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Sneering at Potter doesn't count," Snape shrugged. "Everyone feels the urge to do that when the arrogant shit gets cranky."

Hermione giggled. "My point is that I'd prefer it if you didn't get yourself killed this evening by saying something you shouldn't because you're essentially high on my magic, Severus. Bad moods, bad reputation, and all, I'd much rather you continued to exist for a good long while, yet."

She turned in his hold, enjoying the trail of his fingers across her back as she faced him, having to tip her head back a little to hold his gaze. He didn't step back or afford her any additional personal space, not seeming to mind that they stood close enough to touch. Hermione lifted her eyes to his, her hands lifting to toy with the buttons on the front of his robes.

"Why?" he asked very quietly.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "You intrigue me. And I enjoy shagging you. And despite your foul moods, you're extremely clever and you make me laugh. I can think of worse people to be married to."

"You're seventeen," he said. "You shouldn't be married at all."

"Maybe," Hermione sighed. "But I am. There's nothing for it. You're stuck with me, Professor."

His lips twisted, and Hermione smiled at him.

"I don't like it when you call me 'Professor' while you're naked," he admitted quietly, his long fingers tracing shapes over the bare flesh of her ribcage.

"Would you prefer I refer to you as 'husband'?" she offered teasingly.

He scowled at her. "I should go," he said, refusing to answer.

"You could stay," she countered. "I'm fairly certain Professor Dumbledore won't die of impatience if you don't call in on him until the morning. And if the Dark Lord truly meant to have you return to him this evening, I'm sure he'd have sent someone after us by now. I think it's safe to say that he'd prefer you were properly and thoroughly consummating the marriage he arranged."

"The wider population of the Order need to be notified of your survival, and your fate," Severus argued.

"So, send a Patronus," Hermione rolled her eyes. "And then stay and ravish me until neither of us can move."

"It would not be in either of our best interests to continue to interweave our magic, Granger," he said, frowning at her.

"Then keep you magic to yourself," she said. "I don't actually need your magic to get off, Snape."

"No, I rather think you manage just fine without it," he smirked wickedly, tracing his hands up to capture her nipples between his colds fingers.

"Is that a yes?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows and beginning to unbutton his robes.

"So eager for me, Miss Granger?" he drawled, smirking wickedly as he pinched her nipples just hard enough to smart, sending little spirals of pleasure shooting directly to her clit.

"Were you unaware of my habit of obsessively consuming everything I enjoy to the point of excess?" Hermione challenged.

"You enjoy me, then?" he taunted.

"What if I do?" Hermione asked.

"Then you are a peculiar witch with poor taste," Severus muttered before ducking his head and capturing her lips for a searing kiss.

Hermione melted against him. Cold from the chill of the Hall while she stood naked, she pressed closer to his warmth, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his many, many buttons and reveling in each patch of flesh she unveiled. His lips moved over hers carefully, almost tentatively, and Hermione could tell when he brushed his tongue along her lower lip a bit too hard, that for all that he'd been kissing her this evening, he obviously hadn't snogged anyone since he'd been a teenager.

Knowing that when the effects of the bonding ceremony and the Lordship ritual wore off, she might never get another kiss that didn't involve a lot of wheedling, whining, or downright stealing them from his lips, Hermione leaned into him hungrily. He tangled his tongue around hers, and Hermione worked to unbutton his robes as quickly as possible, smoothing her hands over the scarred expanse of his pale chest when she managed to open them. She pressed herself to him, the feel of his warm flesh against her cool skin making her tremble.

When he scooped his hands under her arse and lifted her, Hermione curled her legs around his waist, looping her arms around his neck and tangling her fingers into his ink-black hair. She clung to him desperately, their combined magic beneath her skin tingling with happiness and that terrible, dark thrum of the new rip in her soul fluttering as though she'd given it wings. Part of her wanted to run; to peel herself free of him, find some clothes and flee his presence forevermore, lest he seduce her to the same Darkness that so afflicted, him and lest he somehow lead her to her doom.

There could be no denying he walked a Dark path and Hermione was terrified and titillated in equal measure to think that she might loop her arm through his and walk that path with him for a ways. She was emotional and tired and lustful, and she just wanted to forget everything that had happened that night by drowning her argument with Harry, and her terror of being surrounded by Death Eaters, and her fear at being captured and interrogated by Voldemort in the sweet feel of Snape's cock gliding in and out of her throbbing pussy. She wanted to bury her thoughts under a heaping pile of sensation and she wanted to let him wear her out until she might sleep without suffering terrible nightmares of the grisly murder she'd committed a few scant hours past.

Hermione writhed against Snape when he carried her out of the bathroom, blindly stumbling for the enormous bed. The breath huffed from her lungs as he broke their kiss, lowering her down on the middle of the bed and looming over her. She mewled when he nipped her neck, peppering her flesh with more love-bites, and nipping her just hard enough to smart. Tracing her fingers down his back, Hermione pulled at his robes, dragging them from his shoulders and tossing them aside. When she could touch his bare flesh, she took her time learning the feel and the location of his many scars and she wondered how he'd gotten each one.

Maybe, one day, she would ask.

"Oh, gods," Hermione whimpered when he kissed his way over her chest, latching on one of her nipples while she fumbled with the fastening on his trousers. After the many times she'd already shagged him that evening, her body positively ached with pleasure that had begun to border on pain, her nerve-endings alight with overstimulation to the point where it almost stung to have him touching the sensitive buds he'd made of her nipples.

Writhing under him, Hermione gripped his shoulders tightly and rolled them both across the bed until she was straddling him. Snape huffed in surprise at her strength, and raised his eyebrows at her when he found himself on his back and at her mercy. Hermione smirked at him before leaning in and kissing his neck in return. She kind of liked the way he stretched his neck, giving her better access to his skin and surrendering to the touch, his eyes closing as he let her have her way with him.

Hermione explored his body as she hadn't done up until that point. Every other sexual encounter they'd shared had been fraught with pleasure, fast-paced and hungry. She took her time as she kissed his neck, giving him a love-bite and reveling in the very faint groan she drew from him as she suckled at his pulse point where it hammered with his pounding heartbeat. She straddled him, her hands working to free his cock from his trousers and Hermione smiled to herself as she kissed her way done his chest, pausing to lick one of his nipples and chuckling at the way the little pink disc pinched just a bit.

He buried his hands in her hair when she trailed her lips over his abdomen, tracing the tip of her tongue in a circle around his navel and enjoying the bump of each defined muscle beneath his skin. She taunted him slowly as she tipped her eyes up, watching his face as she dipped her hands inside his trousers, forcing them down a little before curling one hand around the throbbing erection within.

His breath hitched, and his eyes opened, skidding down to collide with hers. Hermione smiled before nipping his abs, making him twitch as she smoothed her hands up and down the length of his cock, torturously working him over until his hips jerked with the urge to fuck her. He closed his eyes when Hermione leaned down a little further before dragging her tongue up the underside of his cock, circling the throbbing head before engulfing the appendage in her mouth.

"Fuck," she heard him breathe so softly, she didn't think she was meant to hear him. Hermione hummed happily as she traced her tongue around and around him, intent of finding out if she could swallow his entire cock. His hands in her hair tightened and his hips bucked a little, obviously fighting the urge to take control and fuck her mouth. Hermione relaxed her throat, concentrating to make sure she wouldn't gag before lowering her mouth upon him as far as she could without dying.

A little noise of tortured protest mingled with pleasure escaped him, and Hermione felt entirely too triumphant as she bobbed her head up and down the full length of his cock, her hands tracing patterns on his thighs and carefully cupping his bollocks as she tormented him. She'd never been that interested in giving head, if she was being completely honest, but when she flicked her eyes up the length of his body to drink in to sight of his tormented expression, alight with pleasure and yet screwed up as though he was desperately clinging to his self-control, Hermione found herself thinking that she wouldn't mind doing this more often just to watch him try and resist the sensations.

Severus writhed as she took her time, hollowing her cheeks on every drawback and swirling her tongue as she took him deep once more. His breath came in sharp gasps, his hands tight in her hair and Hermione complied when he lost the battle to keep from moving, relaxing as best she could and letting him buck into her, his cock gliding down her throat.

"Fucking hell, Granger," Snape groaned when she didn't gag or try to fight him off or stop him. When she hummed, he jerked hard and his hands in her hair pulled it suddenly, prying her mouth off of him and pulling her back.

His eyes, when he dragged her up the length of his body, were wild with lust and Hermione suspected she might be in for another rough round when he rolled her to her back in the middle of the bed and settled himself between her thighs. He buried his lips against her neck as she spread her legs, curling them around him and feeling the blunt head of his cock nudging at her slick folds.

"Ready?" he asked quietly, his body quivering as he paused at her entrance, waiting for her to meet his gaze.

"Fuck me, Snape," she commanded quietly, her whole body feeling as if it was on fire with need.

He smirked, seeming to like it when she used foul language, and Hermione grinned before the expression morphed her lips into a perfect 'O' when he drove himself inside her, high, and hard, and deep enough that she could almost taste it. That delicious stretch was tempered with the sting and the deep ache of her abused insides after the last round, but Hermione writhed under him as he set a steady pace, surprising her when he didn't get as rough as he'd done last time.

Indeed, he took his time about it, his pace steady but enough to make her lose her breath and make her squirm as he ground into her again and again. He dotted her neck and her chest with little nips and kisses, licking her hungrily and smirking when she mewled and whined and hissed with the sensations coursing through her. After so much stimulation, she was both sore and extremely sensitive, and she suspected he must be too because he shifted slightly, altering the rhythm and balancing one handed as he sought out her clit with his fingers, pinching the bundle of nerves and pressing soft circles to the sensitive nub.

Hermione orgasmed with a soft cry and a jerk of her body under his. Severus followed her over, groaning quietly into her hair and rocking through the orgasm as he spent himself inside her. When he collapsed on top of her, Hermione found her arms curling around his back, pulling him down on top of herself more firmly and cuddling him close. She was utterly exhausted after the trying evening, the multiple rounds, and the lateness of the hour, and she'd kill for the chance to just fall asleep right there with him still on top of her.

He made a sound of protest, attempting to roll off her and settle beside her, lest he crush her. Hermione grizzled at him, too spent to explain that she didn't want to move. Snape chuckled huskily.

"You can't spend the entire night like this," he said. "I don't snuggle, Granger."

"Make an exception," she breathed. "Just once. It is our wedding night, after all."

"I have meetings to keep," Severus argued.

"We agreed you were going to shag me instead."

"And I did," he pointed out.

"Sleep, now," Hermione protested.

"If I don't go, eventually the Dark Lord and Albus will both seek me out here, you do realize that?" he chuckled.

"Let them play with each other and we'll stay in bed," she huffed. "Pair of gits."

Snape laughed out loud at her suggestion. "And have them destroy this fine establishment that we've tied our magics to?"

Hermine opened her eyes, narrowing them blearily as she felt a surge of protectiveness for the building at the very suggestion that it might be harmed or ruined should the two powerful wizards ever find themselves in the same vicinity within it.

"Surely they can both wait until morning before calling on you?" she asked. "It's after three, Snape."

"You imagine I have never had call to drop in on Albus with a report at such a late hour?" he asked. "He is an old man, Granger. He doesn't actually spend that much time sleeping during the wee small hours, and he will have been pacing his study for hours already, awaiting my arrival. I left Grimmauld Place this evening to attend the Dark Lord's feast and collect you after rudely informing him that I'd been fucking you and corrupting you right under everyone's noses. I even pointed out that you might very well have been the sacrifice tonight, rather than the bride, and I have learned from past experiences that it is never wise to keep the old man waiting. It only gives him longer to stew on his anger and to plot better ways to tear me apart with well-worded jabs, designed to cut me back down to size and to ensure I remain firmly under his thumb like a good little boy, lest the Darkness lure me out from under it and I forget the oaths I swore to him, in favour of those I swore to the Dark Lord and the Old Gods."

Hermione sighed.

"But it's so late," she protested.

"I have no intention of allowing you to accompany me, Granger," he chuckled, rolling off her with some difficulty when Hermione clung to his chest, not wanting to part with him so soon. She felt strangely needy and pathetic at the idea of being separated from him, even for the scant hour or two it would surely take for him to deliver a report to Dumbledore. She wondered if it was the result of the wedding ceremony and the vows they'd each sworn, or if she was becoming alarmingly attached.

"You would leave me here? Alone? What if someone awful like Bellatrix decides to drop in and exact her revenge for my impolite commentary during dinner?" Hermione asked. "What if Greyback and his pack are still on the grounds and find their way inside?"

"Are you incapable of defending yourself?" he asked drolly. "I was under the impression that you were once a member of a secret duelling club and that you are rumoured to be the brightest witch of your age. Indeed, I recall being on the business end of your wand more than once. I feel certain that should they attempt a game of cat-and-mouse, you would be able to sufficiently hold them off long enough for me to return."

"I am more than capable of fighting off Lestrange, thank you," she snapped. "Greyback, on the other hand, isn't exactly susceptible to most of the spells I know."

"You're saying that your education pertaining to werewolves and how to defend against them has been lacking?" he asked, his voice positively dripping with condescension and scorn.

"I know a few that would work, on say, Remus," Hermione sniffed. "But Greyback has control over his beast and can take beast form even when the moon isn't full. He can control that state and obviously can control the beasts of other men, too. I don't believe any spell I could produce would have any lasting effects on him, and I feel certain that anything non-lethal I threw at him would like be the equivalent of… well, poking a werewolf with a short stick."

Severus smirked at her.

"It's true that he is more powerful than any other werewolf I've ever encountered, and that he would enjoy toying with you. But he runs almost exclusively on animal instinct. You currently reek of me and your magic is thoroughly interwoven with mine. I doubt he would attempt to lay a claw on you in your current state – he respects me entirely too much to take something that he would consider to be mine. Should you be required to defend yourself in the coming days, you will do so with the full power of your own magical core, in addition to the extreme power of my magic. It's flitting about under your skin, just waiting to be released or put to use."

"You really mean to leave me here? Alone?" she asked, frowning at him.

Snape raised his eyebrows at her, seeming genuinely surprised by her concerns as though he hadn't expected that she might be afraid of being in such a big house by herself.

"You would not be alone, Miss Granger," he said. "The house elves belonging to the estate have fallen under our command and will serve you, to the detriment of themselves, should the need arise."

"There are house elves here?" Hermione asked, her eyes widening in outrage.

"Yes," he nodded. "And I forbid you from presenting them with clothes and setting them free. The elves who reside here and serve this house have been through quite enough, what with the loss of the Selwyn family they have served for generations and the Dark Lord scaring the wits out of them while he has been here, making adjustments to the house and the grounds to better serve our presence. They are fragile enough now that I feel certain being presented with clothes by their bossy new mistress would push some of them to suicide."

Hermione opened her mouth, intent on protesting, but he pressed one long finger to her lips.

"Don't argue," he commanded sternly, looking entirely too much like her scary teacher, rather than her favourite Death Eater. "I forbid you from freeing them. As the last surviving descendant of the Selwyn family bloodline, they are bound more closely to me than to you. My link to them is through blood. Yours is only through marriage. If I must order them to ignore you and to refuse any clothing you offer them, I shall."

"If they wish to go free, it is their right to do so," Hermione argued, despite his command.

"And if they still wish to go free when things settle down, I will grant them permission to do so. However, it is unlikely that they would want to, and I will not let you endanger them with your reckless and pushy approach toward achieving equality for all magical beings."

"How do you even know about that?" Hermione demanded.

"Because I happen to live rather close to the kitchens at Hogwarts, you may recall? And I am a member of staff. Whenever you get within five feet of that kitchen, all members of staff are notified that you're once again upsetting the castle elves. You insult them with your suggestions of freedom, you know? They enjoy serving, and they take great pride in it. To have a bossy witch trying to push clothes on them and force them from their service is their equivalent of their very worst nightmares coming true. To be given clothes is not freedom, to them, but shame. It is to be considered so useless that they are unwanted. You aren't giving them freedom, Granger. When you present a house elf with clothes, you're giving them the sack."

"But Dobby…" she began hotly.

"Dobby is an unusual elf who was born and raised in Malfoy Manor during a time when Lucius's arrogance and cruelty was at its peak. The treatment he received as a result of his frequent failings taught him to hate the master he once took pride in serving and he leapt at the chance to be free. Not all elves are like him," Severus insisted sternly.

Hermione glared at him.

"But the way wizards treat elves is abominable," she said. "Look at how Sirius always treated Kreacher. It taught him to hate Sirius and resulted in the lot of us going to the Ministry needlessly when he lied about Sirius's whereabouts to Harry. If he'd been given clothes and set free, none of that would have happened."

"Kreacher hated Black from the time that mongrel was a defiant child who displeased his mother. Walburga Black lavished the elf with praise when he performed well, and she provided for him in every manner. His hatred for Black grew as hers did when he continually defied his parents and tarnished their good name by becoming a Blood Traitor."

"He made the right choice. Look where blood supremacy landed his parents and his brother," Hermione argued.

"Regardless of their fates, Kreacher was taught to hate Sirius Black, and the urge to do so was only reinforced by Black's own hatred of the elf in return," Severus argued. "None of the elves in this house are hateful, and should they prove to be, they will be dismissed. You will not upset them by evicting them into the cold, war-torn world beyond these walls. Am I making myself clear?"

"You're being unreasonable," Hermione dared to inform him.

"I'm being rational.  _You_  are being overzealous and arbitrary," he accused, narrowing his eyes on her coldly.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and huffed at him in annoyance, too tired to think rationally enough to continue arguing with him when he had that stern glint in his eyes.

"I thought you were going to see Dumbledore?" she demanded, growing impatient with him but doubting it would be wise to pick a fight with her new husband mere hours into their marriage.

"If you leave this bed while I'm gone, I'm going to spank you when I return," he warned her. "And before you say so, no. You will  _not_  enjoy it."

"You don't know that," she argued contrarily, twisting atop the bed to peel open the covers before slotting herself between them, uninterested in walking about the house in the dark by herself at three in the morning when she was tired, and it was cold, and it was the middle of winter. Merlin only knew what she might come across and she didn't fancy running into anything that might be hiding in a big old magical house like this one.

"Believe me, Miss Granger," Severus sneered quietly. "If I am ever pushed far enough as to lay a violent hand on you, it will likely be your last night of this earth."

Hermione's eyes widened at the sinister threat and she averted her gaze, loathing the little thrum of fear that whispered through her veins, even while her Darkness throbbed with the urge to talk back, to defy him, to prove him wrong and push him to such violence. Through her loose curls, Hermione snuck a peek at him when he sighed and sat up, swinging his legs over the far side of the bed and putting his face in his hands for a long moment. She wondered if he was ashamed of what he'd said, annoyed with her for being fearful, or just too tired to drag himself out of bed and face both of his masters when he could be dropping off to sleep, instead.

She trailed her eyes over the bare expanse of his back, her face scrunching into a horrified frown when she noticed the layered scars littering his back. They were far more extensive than she'd thought them to be when blindly tracing her fingers over them. Merlin's beard, he was practically disfigured with them. Indeed, he looked like he'd been repeatedly flogged. With a dog-chain, by the shape and the viciousness of the scars. Most were white and spidery, old wounds that had long since healed and probably didn't pain him at all, but one or two were still a vicious and angry red. Hermione wondered if they were newer scars, or if they had simply been such terrible wounds that they'd never faded.

She didn't dare react to them, knowing without doubt that one of the fastest ways to send him stalking from the room cursing would be to ask who had flogged him – or worse, to show pity for the terrible things he'd clearly endured.

"Sorry," he grunted before she could recover her wits enough to close her mouth and to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth. "That was uncalled for."

Hermione didn't reply, and she watched his back stiffen as though suddenly recalling his scars and realizing he'd just bared them to her gaze. Hurriedly, Hermione rearranged her expression, darting her eyes to her trunk where it stood across the room, still packed.

"Don't worry about it, Snape," she muttered. "When do you think you'll return?"

He looked over his shoulder at her and Hermione caught the way his eyes narrowed when she reached for her wand, summoning it off the floor where it had fallen next to her trunk. She caught the instrument deftly before flicking it at her trunk, intent on unpacking her belongings, beginning with her pyjamas. If he wasn't staying, it would be much too cold to sleep naked, and she shuddered at the thought of the house being invaded while she was starkers.

"I will be here before you awaken," he offered quietly, his voice laced with suspicion.

"Here?" she asked, nodding to the spot in the bed beside her.

He hesitated, frowning at the pillow he'd been leaning against before looking back at her. He looked like he wanted to say no. Indeed, he looked rather like the idea of sharing a bed with her for the purpose of sleep would be a unique form of torture. Hermione raised her eyebrows, catching her flannel pyjamas as they drifted toward her and pulling the shirt on over her head. He eyed the animated cat pattern of the dull red flannel as though it had personally offended him, but he didn't comment or sneer at her as she'd expected he would.

"If you insist," he said, nodding his head slowly, his brow furrowed as his eyes traced over her face, looking for some sign from her that she wanted him there, or that she was embarrassed by the idea of sharing his bed.

Hermione met his gaze unflinchingly.

"I don't  _insist_ , Snape," she sighed. "If you would truly prefer to sleep away from me, and would be more comfortable doing so, I'm certainly not going to  _force_  you to share a bed with me. But we  _are_  man and wife, no matter that neither of us had all that much say in the matter. If you wish to sleep elsewhere, I will not stop you, and I will not impose upon you. But I would appreciate knowing you are close by, given what we have endured this evening as a result of Voldemort's meddling. I don't think it would be incorrect to assume that he has some ulterior motive for killing off an entire bloodline for the sake of stealing their home before insisting you marry a person you barely know just to give you a title. Whatever he wants involves both of us, and since he's been tampering with the house, I hardly think he will have allowed it to deny him access, should he wish to invade. I might very well wake up with someone awful looming over me, intent on slitting my throat or hexing me."

"You are afraid?" he asked, frowning.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at his slightly incredulous tone.

"I might have enough sass to say things I shouldn't when it would be better to hold my tongue, and might be brave enough to charge head-long into danger for the sake of protecting or assisting my friends, Severus, but that does not mean I am without fear or enough sense to be afraid of whatever the Dark Lord is planning."

He eyed her for a long moment, his face devoid of all expression and Hermione found herself thinking that she would very much like to learn the art of Legilimency for the sake of knowing what went on inside his brilliant mind.

"Whatever the Dark Lord is planning is unlikely to cause you harm, Granger. You would be in more danger with me sleeping beside you than you would be sleeping alone."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Do you believe yourself so terrifying?" Hermione frowned at him.

"It baffles me that you have so little fear of me, Miss Granger. You  _know_  I am not a good man."

Hermione shook her head.

"In all the time I have known you, Professor Snape, I have never felt unsafe in your presence. Fearful, perhaps, of your temper and your viciousness when things go awry on your watch, but never in danger."

"Even knowing I bear this?" He asked, showing her his Dark Mark. "Even knowing I took it willingly? Proudly? Knowing I was thrilled when I earned my Mark. I reveled in the depravity I had to commit to earn it."

Hermione smiled softly, reaching for his arm and tracing her fingers over a small burn scar on his wrist.

"Every time you discuss your mark, and your pride in having it, you speak in past tense. Did you know that?" She asked him softly.

He narrowed his eyes on her.

"I would not take it back," he informed her. "Do not make the mistake of confusing my intentions with my motives, Miss Granger. There isn't a thing I did to earn this that I would take back. I knew what I was signing up for when I took it, and I wear the mark of my brethren proudly. They might be criminals and Dark wizards, but they are the closest thing I have to family."

Hermione turned his hand over, examining his fingers carefully and noting the many little scars from a lifetime spent brewing dangerous potions and handling delicate ingredients.

"They were," she conceded quietly as she lifted her eyes to rest steadily upon his face. "But that title is mine to claim, now. I am your wife, sir. That makes you and I family."

She gave his hand a squeeze before settling down under the covers and resting her head upon her pillow while he stared at her, caught somewhere between thunderstruck, exasperated, and gobsmacked. Hermione smiled gently, allowing him to pull away.

"Goodnight, Severus," she whispered. "I'll see you in the morning."

He didn't seem to know what to say to that, and Hermione watched him through her lashes as he slowly shook his head at her as though he thought her foolish, before he rose, dressed himself once more, and stalked out of the room without looking back.


	19. Chapter 19

Severus's mind wasn't on Dumbledore's interrogation as he sat in the Headmaster's office listening to the old man scold him. His thoughts were far away, not at all focusing on the glint in Dumbledore's eyes that belied his fury. No, Severus's mind was fixated upon the contrary witch he'd been fucking all evening. His wife. She certainly had gall, he'd give her that. To have snootily declared herself his family before tucking herself into bed in such garish and unflattering pyjamas – insisting he join her there just as soon as he returned when he was determined on meeting with his master – certainly took a good deal of courage and more than a little sass.

The little bitch.

"Severus, you aren't listening," Dumbledore chided him and Severus blinked at the powerful wizard across the desk.

"Apologies, Albus," he offered, rather insincerely.

"How could you have allowed this to happen?" Dumbledore demanded. "How could you be so reckless?"

"I assume you are still referring to Miss Granger?" Severus asked, raising one dark eyebrow slowly.

"She is still a student, Severus! She is only in her sixth year, for Merlin's sake!" Albus snapped, narrowing his eyes as a result of Severus's patronizing tone.

"She's of age, Albus," Severus said. "And as such anything between us is not actually against the law, or against school policy. I believe that page seven hundred and twenty-nine of  _Hogwarts: A History_ , says that if the student is of age, and consents to the relationship, student and teacher are permitted to court, wed, and even to share quarters."

Albus banged a closed fist on the desktop and glared at him over his half-moon spectacles.

"And just how are you going to crawl back to the castle on your hands and knees undetected after Tom next tortures you if you've got Harry Potter's best friend in your bed, Severus?" he snarled. "This was beyond reckless. The girl is muggleborn, exceedingly bright, and friends with Harry. She already has an enormous target painted upon her, and you seek to worsen it by bringing her into direct contact with those of your Death Eater peers? You swore a vow, Severus. A vow to bring about Tom's demise and to protect Harry to the best of your ability. Miss Granger is nothing but a complication that will ultimately hinder your ability to uphold that vow."

"You imagine she might give me something to live for and make me less willing to sacrifice my life to the cause?" Severus sneered quietly, his eyes narrowed in return.

"I don't  _need_  to imagine," Albus hissed at him. "She is the type of witch who rattles on about House Elf rights, Severus. How do you expect she will take some of the things you must do in order to fulfil your role as spy?"

Severus smirked.

"She didn't fight so very hard over the idea of assisting me in murdering Dolores Umbridge this evening," he said coldly.

"Then you have already corrupted her, and she is naught but a liability, afflicted with Darkness and no longer a safe companion and confidant for Harry," Dumbledore snarled. " _How_  did this happen?"

"How did I end up fucking her?" Severus sneered, enjoying the way the old man flinched at the foul language.

"You have never shown even a hint of interest in any of the students, Severus. You loathe them, and you snarl about their behavior. How did you end up naked with one of them? I was under the impression you hadn't looked longingly at any witch since Lily."

"Leave Lily out of this," Severus snarled, his eyes flashing dangerously. "And rid yourself of notions that a witch fifteen-years-dead might still hold sway over my actions or emotions, Albus."

"You swore your vows to protect her, and to protect her son when we failed to save her from Tom's thirst for immortality," Dumbledore reminded him. "Now you wish to argue that you've finally gotten over her?"

"I was over her a long time ago, Albus," Severus snarled, shooting to his feet and glaring at the older wizard hatefully. "If you truly have imagined that all this time, with all I have done, it was in the vain hope that a dead witch might return my affections, you are a fool."

"Am I to believe that the uncanny similarities between Miss Evans and Miss Granger are mere coincidence, then?" Albus asked archly, glaring over his spectacles and not looking a bit frightened by Severus's foul temper as it engaged.

"Similarities?" Severus asked tightly, eyes narrowed.

"They are both muggleborn, both exceedingly clever, both disaffected to fame and popularity. Both have a thirst for knowledge, a habit for reading excessively, and both have a fiery temper. Do not delude yourself that Miss Granger is anything more than a living, breathing substitute for the woman you truly care about," Albus hissed.

Were he a less-controlled man, Severus might've stumbled back from the other wizard in shocked fury and strangled hurt. How  _dare_  he imply such a thing? Severus narrowed his eyes, occluding hard to ensure that no hint of his emotions leaked through for the old man to manipulate. He'd had hours – perhaps even days – to plot his destruction of Severus. Albus Dumbledore was nothing if not cunning, and Severus spotted his motives immediately.

He wished to ensure that Severus would remain hung-up on a witch who'd ceased loving him twenty years ago in the vague hope of continuing to control him. Albus had been using Lily's memory to manipulate Severus since he'd been just twenty years old and Severus was growing tired of it.

"You wish to know how this happened, Albus?" he sneered coldly, glaring down his nose at Dumbledore. "Let me tell you. Miss Granger was, as usual, out of bed after hours and somewhere she shouldn't have been. I happened to have returned from a meeting with the Dark Lord – perhaps you recall? I was only mauled by a werewolf that evening and left to stalk out of your office entirely beyond humanity and bleeding to death, though you made no effort to ensure my continued health throughout the night. She was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time and, bleeding-heart that she is, she insisted on healing me when she noticed my wounds and my deep Occlumination."

"And somehow healing you ended with you shagging the girl?" Dumbledore demanded. "She is a  _child_ , Severus."

Severus curled his lip.

"Believe me, Albus. I've seen every inch of that witch and there is nothing child-like about her," he taunted.

Albus looked away, disgusted.

"I tried to insist that it would be in her best interests to be on her way, but one of your precious little Gryffindors was already intrigued by the Dark, it seems. She refused to leave, and she enjoyed every minute as I fucked her," Severus sneered. "So much so that when she received detention the following evening, she ignored my commands that she return to her dormitory when I was summoned, and she waited around until well after midnight for me to return. And let me tell you, Albus, I was in fine form. Pettigrew been murdered, and I'd been robbed the privilege of murdering that fucking cunt! She didn't back down or pull away or protest when I took my foul mood out on her."

"Regardless of her willingness, she is a child, Severus," Albus argued hotly. "She's only in her sixth year. How am I to ward off the Board of Governors when the wider population of the school gets wind of the fact that my surliest teacher is having sex with my brightest pupil?"

"Don't tell them," Severus shrugged his shoulders. "And don't try to drag me back under your thumb by doing Miss Granger the disservice of comparing her to a memory ever again, Albus."

Albus regarded him coldly and Severus returned the glare unflinchingly.

"What is Tom planning by wedding you to one of your students?" he asked, obviously realizing that he would get nothing but more snark if he continued to push the issue about Granger's age and his position.

"I suspect he plans to attempt to lure information about Potter from her," Severus admitted. "And perhaps wishes to put her logic to use. To have made such an exception as to have invited a muggleborn witch into his presence before the entire brethren means she is more than just a pawn in his game."

"He seeks to isolate Harry by robbing him the trust of a friend, and by rubbing his nose in the notion that even his friends can succumb to Darkness," Albus surmised quietly, frowning. "Did she hesitate before killing Dolores?"

Severus nodded. "She didn't want to do it, though a better victim, the Dark Lord could not have chosen. She cried when I guided the knife to kill the witch, and she vomited afterward, when the ritual was over, and the brethren were gone."

"Did she fight the inclusion of herself in the ceremony at all?" Albus asked.

Severus shook his head. "She gave plenty of cheek. She even referred to the Dark Lord as 'Tom', to his face, and he allowed her to get away with it. She provoked many of the Death Eaters, and she hexed Draco for delaying her departure from the castle long enough to be caught by Dolohov in the first place. But she did not voice an objection to marrying me, or to killing Umbridge."

"She is clever enough to know that arguing would be pointless," Albus mused. Severus watched the old man begin to pace, tracking him with his eyes and picking up on the thoughts whirling through his mind.

"She is not a saint, Albus," Severus pointed out. "I've been saying it from the start. Potter is hot-headed and irrational. He jumps into danger and sticks his nose where he shouldn't. Miss Granger is usually the one clever enough to figure a way out of trouble for the three of them, but make no mistake, it is often  _her_  encouraging the other two to break the rules. She was the one who encouraged them to search the Restricted Section on numerous occasions when they couldn't find answers elsewhere. She was the one breaking into my stores and stealing ingredients to brew Polyjuice potion in a bathroom at twelve. She was the one who thought of luring Umbridge into the forest and setting Grawp on the witch before refusing to lift a finger to save the woman when she was carried off by centaurs. I've said from the beginning that if not for the fact that he needs all the brains he can get to do his thinking for him, Potter would be better off without Miss Granger's influence. Her logic overrides her compassion, more often than not."

"You believe her logic landed her in bed with you?" Albus asked.

"No, I believe that in my case she's blinded against logic, sense, or even fear. She has more fear of me inside a classroom surrounded by her peers when I'm in a foul mood than she does when I am dressed in my Death Eater robes and mask, sneering and emanating enough cold to freeze any liquid in my vicinity. She doesn't fear the Darkness in me."

Albus narrowed his eyes on him, obviously wanting proof and Severus sighed, widening his eyes slightly and letting the Headmaster invade his mind, offering up the memories he had of the girl spent in private when she back-talked, argued, flirted, and even smirked at him as though they were friends, rather than teacher and student. He also offered those memories he had of the girl warily watching him within the classroom.

"She is infatuated with you?" Albus asked. "Why?"

Severus didn't bother being offended at the genuine curiosity in the other's wizard's voice.

"She's not infatuated with me, Albus," Severus argued quietly, dropping back down into the seat in front of the desk and sighing. He did his level best to refrain from thinking about the fact that she'd vowed to love him even when he was hateful. "She is merely attracted to the Darkness, and I'm the first thing she's ever encountered in any real and lasting sense that is afflicted with it."

"You are not," Albus said quietly. "She's close friends with Harry. You and I both know how much Darkness is in him."

"That Darkness belongs to the horcrux within him, and you know it," Severus argued. "It is the bit of the Dark Lord inside Potter that seeks the Darkness. Potter abhors it as much as his father did. He referred to Granger as a harlot tonight merely for having shagged me in the first place, you know?"

"I'm inclined to agree with him,' Dumbledore said unkindly. "I thought she had more sense."

"That the witch has a perfectly functioning libido and the courage to act on it does not make her a harlot, Albus," Severus snarled, his eyes flashing. "That she chose to act on it with me does not make her a less useful or less valuable witch. That she is intrigued by Darkness is not uncommon in people her age, and that she is apparently attracted to me enough to allow me to fuck her in the first place does not negate her cleverness."

"It certainly casts into doubt everything I had believed about the witch," Albus retorted and Severus realized the old man was baiting him, trying to figure out if he actually cared for the girl enough to defend her.

"That you made assumptions about her character based on nothing more than distant observation and were proved wrong is no fault of hers, Dumbledore," Severus said, affecting an air of disinterest. "Surely after one hundred and fifteen years you would have learned that assuming anything merely makes an arse of you? Are you so surprised that a teenage witch is interested in sex, is attracted to an authority figure in her life, and is prone to rebelliousness when it serves her? That description could be applied to any teenage witch."

"You need not remind me that she is a teenager, Severus," Albus sneered coldly.

"Perhaps I ought to remind you that the witch you are disparaging is now my wife," Severus hissed dangerously, his magic prickling and stirring that of the girl's where it was interwoven with his own. "If you insist on insulting her, at least allow her the courtesy of doing so to her face. I think I would very much enjoy watching her sass you and put you in your place as she did to Potter, Carrow, Dolohov, Lestrange  _and_  the Dark Lord this evening."

"You like the girl," Albus said, turning to him with a frown.

Severus raised his eyebrows in challenge.

"You believe, even after all this time and all you have seen inside my head, that I am capable of fancying or caring for anyone?" Severus asked.

"You admire her gall," Albus pointed out. "You encourage her rebelliousness and her cheek."

"I don't need to encourage her, Albus," Severus smirked. "Believe me, the witch has enough confidence and courage to act as she likes without approval. She certainly doesn't crave approval from me, at least not outside of the classroom."

"Why her?" Albus asked. "Of all the female students who have attempted to seduce you in the past, why Hermione?"

Severus frowned. If he knew the answer to that, they might not be in this mess.

"She doesn't want anything from me," Severus admitted quietly, finding the words spilling from between his lips, unbidden and before he'd had a chance to mull over their merit.

"It would seem she wants you to shag her," Albus replied dryly.

"Perhaps, but that is the extent of any demand she might make of me. She does not seek to manipulate me for a better grade. She doesn't want power, or fame, or infamy, or money, or to be able to blackmail me into anything. She doesn't want me to spy for anyone."

"Then what  _does_  she want?" Albus raised his eyebrows. "She's your wife, after all. You ought to know."

Severus shrugged his shoulders. "From what I can see, all that witch wants is equality for all magical beings, the right to pursue knowledge unimpeded, and to be allowed to fuck me when she's feeling frisky."

"You believe she simply saw an opportunity to achieve gratification and took it?" Albus asked. "She has enough men in her life to have managed that without you, Severus."

"You imagine she was a virgin before encountering me?" Severus smirked wickedly. "She's been fucking Weasley for years, though I doubt your precious Potter has a clue about that. She fucked Krum, too."

"And yet she sought you out when she had less complicated options for her gratification," Albus pointed out. "Are you so certain there is nothing she wants from you?"

Severus narrowed his eyes, loathing the bastard for trying to plant doubt inside his mind.

"Weasley is currently seeing someone else," Severus shrugged. "And after Potter's naïve reaction to the idea of her having sex that I witnessed this evening, I don't think she ever considered that little wretch for the job. He wouldn't have the first idea what to do."

"Any of her classmates would surely have been more viable."

"With an immaculate reputation like hers?" Severus challenged.

Albus scowled, pacing the length of his office and back as he tugged on his own beard distractedly.

"This ruins every carefully laid plan we'd made," Albus complained. "You do realize that, don't you?"

"You doubt my ability to perform the tasks required of me just because I was coerced into marrying the little swot?" Severus asked, raising one eyebrow skeptically.

"I doubt your willingness to continue to endanger yourself should she begin to lavish you with the attention and human contact you so obviously crave," Dumbledore said spitefully, and Severus might've laughed if he could bare to give Dumbledore the satisfaction.

"She might, indeed," Severus taunted smirking. "From how hard she argued against me meeting with you this evening, I'd say she prefers when I spend my time with her, rather than a conniving, unconscionable old man who offers me naught but scorn and uses my past mistakes to manipulate me into his service for the Greater Good he swore to leave in the past."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed hatefully, and Severus leered at him, baring his teeth in a crude replication of a smile.

"You drag me through the mud and you remind me of the wretched things I did and the weakness I showed for the Darkness as though you aren't just as guilty, Albus," Severus sneered quietly. "You were once seduced by a wizard bent on world domination and on desecrating and destroying the muggle world. You once believed that that world would be a better place if the magical world was exposed and reigned supreme over the muggles. No one writes it in the history books because you saw the Light and you acted to bring down the Dark wizard of your generation. They don't dare to write about how, before you dueled Grindlewald, you were right beside him in your thirst for power when you weren't sucking his cock."

Severus caught the way, inside his sleeve, Albus fingered his wand, his mind lighting up with thoughts of hexing him and forcing him back down into what he'd always believed to be Severus's place.

"You accepted me amongst the Order and amongst the staff here, and you protected me from prison. But this routine of reminding me to lick your boots and serve your goals like a loyal mutt grows wearisome, at times," he said quietly when the old man turned away, refusing to look at him in the face of Severus's bald address of his past discretions. "Believe me when I say that there is no one more inconvenienced by my marriage this evening than me, Albus. I can barely tolerate the company of the faculty, you, or the students long enough to make it through each day without plotting murder. Yet, right at this moment, there is a curly-haired, flannel-wearing, insufferable, inquisitive and positively sassy witch curled up in the bed I'm expected to call mine for the remainder of my life. There will be no escape and I am saddled with her as surely as she is saddled with me, at the Dark Lord's behest."

"You  _chose_  to shag her, Severus," Albus said, obviously still stung over his address of the past.

"I did," Severus conceded. "And I shouldn't have. But there is nothing for it, now. She is my wife, and I need to know what our plan is, moving forward."

"She is a complication, Severus," Albus said, turning to look at him once more, his expression suddenly weary. He clutched subconsciously at the withered and blackened flesh of his right arm and Severus realized that he was in a great deal of pain, the curse continuing to act upon him and in need of another dosage of potions to keep the side-effects at bay.

"I am aware," Severus nodded.

"She might've coped well enough to survive the ritual having to murder Dolores," Albus shook his head. "But what of her reaction when you must kill me to save Draco and secure yourself in Tom's trust?"

"You fear I will not keep my vow to end your suffering," Severus said softly, some of his anger leaving him when the sly old wizard wilted into his high-backed office chair with a heavy sigh.

"I do not wish to be a burden and to diminish in the eyes of those who so look up to me. I would prefer to go out of this world with a little dignity, and with purpose. You know that my apparent murder by your hand will give the Order the push to fight this war as it must be fought if we are to succeed."

"And only at the cost of my soul," Severus sneered, unable to help himself.

"Would it cost your soul so very much to allow an old man the chance to maintain his dignity?" Albus countered quietly when Severus flicked his wand in the direction of the tea-set on a nearby shelf, summoning it and filling the pot with water before bringing it to boil.

"The act of murder still rips the soul, Albus," Severus said. "No matter the circumstances of the kill, it will still tear a ragged gash in my soul – and likely my psyche. You are, after all, one of my only remaining friends."

"Were we so numerous, once?" Albus teased gently, handing over a cannister of tea-leaves. The lavender, chamomile and bergamot blend was a favourite of his and Severus carefully measured the leaves into the pot, allowing them to steep.

"No," Severus admitted. "All the more reason to refrain from parting from those I do manage to keep."

Albus chuckled, letting go of some of his earlier anger in the face of Severus's candor.

"It is a deepest and most valuable gift you offer me, Severus," Albus said softly. "I do not believe that ending my suffering and putting me out of my misery for the good of us all will negatively impact your soul, my boy. If I did, I would not ask it of you."

"No?" Severus asked doubtfully.

Albus smiled gently, the dotty, grandfatherly persona he cultivated making itself known once more.

"Never," he said solemnly.

Severus doubted that, carefully pouring the tea once it was steeped and passing the cup over to the old man before bringing his own beverage to his lips and sighing at the soothing flavor.

"I fear for Miss Granger's soul that she has become intrigued by you, Severus," Albus admitted calmly. "Especially given this evening's events."

"The Dark Lord insisted that I vow to corrupt her to the same Darkness that so infects me," Severus said, frowning.

"And so you must do so," Albus sighed. "He incited the Olde magic to perform the wedding ceremony?"

Severus nodded.

"I will be stuck with the insufferable know-it-all until I meet my demise. With luck, it will be soon."

"You would wish widow status upon the poor girl?" Albus asked, raising his eyebrow. "Even you are not so cruel, Severus."

"You are cruel to imagine she will have an easy time being married to me," Severus retorted.

"It's true that your mercurial moods and fierce temper will not make things easy on her," Albus conceded. "What are we to do about this?"

"What  _can_  we do about it?" Severus shrugged. "I can hardly divorce the witch."

"I cannot allow her to continue in her close confidence with Harry without ensuring that she will not be easy prey for Tom to garner information I would rather we kept from him," Albus said. "Will you be able to stand invading her mind for the sake of teaching her Occlumency?"

"Will I throw her out like I did to Potter, you mean?" Severus smirked.

Albus's lips twitched.

"She shouldn't be too difficult to teach. She has a natural resistance merely because her mind is obsessively organized. It is not so agonizing when I use Legilimency on her."

"She allows you into her mind?" Albus asked, his eyes widening.

Severus nodded, frowning at little.

"Several times, now. She doesn't object. She usually invites me in, actually," he admitted.

"And you're so sure she wants nothing from you and does not seek to manipulate you?" Albus frowned.

"What motive could she have for tying herself to me, Albus?" Severus asked. "She is hardly in need of better grades."

"She is in need of protection," Albus said quietly. "A muggleborn witch in a war about blood prejudice. She is clever, Severus. She knows how the zealots see her. She knows that being muggle-born makes her an automatic target in their eyes."

"You imagine her so self-serving as to allow things to escalate from a harmless shag to wedded torture merely for the sake of what limited protection being associated with me might offer her?" Severus frowned. "Have you such a low opinion of the witch?"

"You've said yourself that she is logical to the point of sacrificing her compassion, Severus. And I feel certain that unless Tom takes issue with her, no one among the Death Eaters and the pureblood zealots will lay hand or wand on her now that she is your wife. To do so would be the height of insult to you, and to Tom's choice of wife for you."

"Tom's choice," Severus pointed out. "Not hers. She didn't elect to be kidnapped and dragged before the brethren, Albus."

"Didn't she?" Albus asked. "What was she doing that separated her from Harry and Ron to the point of missing the train?"

"Fighting with me," Severus smirked. "She grew concerned that her intrigue with me and her lack of fear of me as the Death Eater might be due to a corruption of her magic. I tested her a few weeks ago, asking her to choose between a well-meant Blood-Warming Charm, and an unfriendly-intended version of the same charm. She couldn't distinguish between the two to make her choice, and Potter interrupted before the conversation could be resolved. I avoided her, thereafter, lest I corrupt her further and she burst in to lecture me on what poor form that was."

"She dared to lecture you?" Albus chuckled.

"She's brave that way," Severus conceded. "The meeting may have devolved when I examined her magical core for Darkness."

"She seduced you, then?" Albus said, looking more and more like he believed Miss Granger had nefarious gains in mind for their every interaction.

"Since I examined her, I suspect the seduction was my doing," he said. "I sent her on her way before she could miss the train and she encountered Draco under the mistletoe. He waylaid her long enough that they both had to run for the train and Dolohov was lying in wait to snatch her. I hardly think my prejudiced godson would work with a muggleborn, rather than against one."

"Even so," Dumbledore said. "It would behoove you to keep your guard up around her. I think it wise to suspect she might be up to something with all of this."

Severus was inclined to disagree, but it would be better to simply nod and let the topic rest so that he might go home and go to bed. He didn't fancy continuing to argue with Albus about it when it was almost dawn.

Finishing his tea, he sat with Dumbledore in silence. Severus ignored the way the other wizard eyed him over the rim of his teacup, obviously curious about this new turn of events, no matter his concerns about Miss Granger's age, her motives, or her influence on the outcome of the war now that she was so intimately tied to Severus and his part in this mess.

"Are you expected to meet with Tom again this evening?" Albus asked eventually when Severus avoided his gaze, being sure to keep his Occlumency shields up lest the old man pilfer snippets from his mind to be used against him at a later date.

"I don't believe so," Severus shook his head. "He planned to perform the Lordship ceremony for Dolohov, too. He's wedding Alecto Carrow. I suspect, once that is done, they will call it a night. I expect that tomorrow I will have to pay the Dark Lord another visit, or, more than likely, host him and the rest of the brethren at Selwyn Hall. The feast tonight at Malfoy Manor was for the wider collection of Death Eaters, their families and the supporters, but those of us with no family will likely all end up spending the afternoon together."

"And Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked. "Where will she fit into all of this?"

Severus sighed. "She'll be expected to accompany me, I should think," he said. "She discussed with Weasley that he might pay her a visit tomorrow, or she might be tempted to join the Christmas lunch with the Order, but in the evening she will be by my side and having to play the part of Death Eater's wife."

"Will she succeed?" Albus asked.

Severus shrugged his shoulders. "She will be tried by fire, I expect. Everyone will be in fine form tomorrow. I expect she will be in for the rude awakening it is to spend the holidays with bigots and zealots who know more about the magical world, it's history, and its customs, than she could've ever imagined in her dizziest daydreams."

"Will she be safe?" Albus asked.

"Is anyone?" Severus challenged.

Albus frowned at him. "No matter the need for her to distance herself from Harry as a result of this mess, it would not do to have her killed, Severus. Harry still needs her, to an extent. She is vital to the cause."

"I suspect the Dark Lord is inclined to agree," Severus drawled. "As such, she will be prodded, poked, teased, taunted and toyed with like a pack of wolves nipping at the hide of a flighty hind. We will see how well she copes, and perhaps learn if she's a set of sharp fangs, all her own."

"Will she succeed?" Albus asked quietly. "I've never imagined her to be particularly prone to violence."

Severus raised his eyebrows at the other wizard.

"You've spent too long worrying yourself about the big picture and have forgotten that all the pieces of the puzzle must be thoroughly examined to ensure their fit," Severus drawled. "Miss Granger has teeth and claws that will one day surpass those of Bella or Alecto, or even Narcissa. She might lack some of the subtlety, but make no mistake, Albus. The witch is prone to action, violence, and the very cruelest forms of revenge. Look at how she treated Miss Edgecombe after that debacle when the girl tattled about their dueling club. Her complexion is forever ruined, and Miss Granger hasn't lifted a finger to end the other girl's torment."

"You believe her cruel?" Albus asked incredulously. "The girl championing House Elf rights is cruel?"

"She spends her time trying to make things better for those species that we wizards consider lesser beings than ourselves, Albus. Does it surprise you so much that she is clever enough to recognize that most of the problem stems from the faults of humanity? She is cruel, and I believe you will find she rather dislikes most people."

"Rather like yourself," Albus muttered.

Severus's lips twitched. Yes, the witch might prove to have a thing or two in common with him, yet.

"What are we to do about your teaching her?" Albus asked when he offered no further commentary.

"Do?" Severus raised his eyebrows.

"You will be accused of favoritism and her grades will be challenged when this comes to light."

"Who said it was going to come to light?" Severus asked. "I have no intention of allowing her to move into my chambers while term is in session. She will remain in her dormitory with her peers, and she will continue on with her classes as she has always done. Her other teachers can vouch for her academic merit, and I have never shown her favoritism inside the classroom. Indeed, I tend to be harder on her, Weasley and Potter, than on any other student in my lessons. Should the Governors get wind of this – which is unlikely unless you tell them – we will deal with it. Until then, things will continue as they have been. She will live in Gryffindor Tower during the term, she will sit her lessons, I will teach my lessons, and all will be the same."

"You're shagging the girl, Severus. She's your wife."

"We managed to get away with shagging right under your nose without being discovered," Severus pointed out. "I am not so obvious as to grope her in the middle of a lesson or something absurd."

"Are you going to treat her and teach her the same way?" Albus challenged. "That sounds like a fine way to end up in the dog-house, Severus."

"You're suggesting I  _should_  favor her?" he asked, eyes narrowed. "Wife or not, her education is more important than her hurt feelings."

"You are cruel, Severus," Albus informed him, though he was chuckling softly. "It is this mentality that has caused the students to hate you so."

"That the emotional brats allow themselves to be ruled by feelings rather than sense is no fault of mine, Albus. My job is to educate them, not coddle them."

"I believe wives are supposed to be coddled, a little," he pointed out.

"You think the same about the idiot boy fated to end the Dark Lord's reign," Severus sneered, looking away.

"Perhaps you're right," Albus sighed softly. "Perhaps Miss Granger  _will_  have a wretched time being married to you."

Severus curled his lip at the old man, unrepentant that he was a heartless bastard.

"But for this evening, I think, it might be nice to at least allow her the chance to imagine things might be different," Albus said softly. "Go home to your wife, crawl into bed beside her despite the garish flannel pyjamas and pretend for the evening that you still have a heart somewhere inside those emaciated ribs – blackened and shrivelled though I'm certain it must be."

"It's your charm people fall for, Albus," Severus sneered, rising to his feet in preparation to leave now that he'd been dismissed.

"It's a shame the same cannot be said for you, my boy," Albus replied good-naturedly and Severus might've laughed, just a little, that the old fool could so recklessly poke fun at him when no one else dared.

No one except Miss Granger, anyway.

"I will see you when term resumes," Severus offered.

Albus nodded, smiling.

"Happy Christmas, Severus," he said.

Severus twisted his lips. "You too."

He exited the office without looking back, intent on going home to Selwyn Hall even if he'd have preferred to simply crawl into bed in his dungeon quarters there at Hogwarts. The marriage bond between himself and Granger ensured that he would seek her out again before the evening was through, and though the thought of sharing a bed with her was terrifying, the thought of not doing so almost made him nauseous. Stalking through the silent and deserted castle, Severus made his way through the corridors and out onto the grounds, all the way to the gates, before Disapparating with a sharp crack.


	20. Chapter 20

Hermione couldn't sleep. She'd tried, after Severus had left, but no amount of tossing or turning could make her comfortable enough to drift off. Whether it was the thrumming in her soul thanks to her infection of Darkness, the new bed, or simply the idea that she was now a married woman, Hermione didn't know. She'd decided to spend the time waiting for Snape to return by knitting. She liked to knit blankets for her friends to use over the winter, and she'd thought that a nice one for Severus might make a good Christmas gift.

She'd hadn't bought him anything, thinking he would think her foolish, needy, or infatuated if she did anything so presumptuous as buying him a gift. But now she was his wife, and though it benefitted him to do so, he'd spent a good deal of his free time concocting a contraceptive potion for her that, she hoped, wouldn't have any ill effects. He'd even called it her Christmas gift and though he'd already given it to her, Hermione couldn't bear the thought of waking up beside him in the morning with nothing to offer him. He was her husband now, after all. It's wouldn't do to let him think she was an insensitive brat.

Not that either of them had been allowed a whole lot of say in the matter, but she didn't think it would be a very good start to their relationship if she didn't bother to give him  _something_  on Christmas. Even if he sneered over the idea of her knitting him a blanket, at least she'd be able to wrap something and hand it to him when they awoke tomorrow.

As it was, with her mind buzzing with her magic and everything that had happened, Hermione had fished out every set of knitting needles she had, and she was using her wand to control them all, juggling nine sets of needles, all in different sizes, and all clicking like out-of-control clocks as they crafted her projects. Five were knitting jumpers in varying sizes – Hermione having a sneaking feeling that despite this evening's feast, Voldemort might arrive tomorrow with his host of Death Eaters to lure Severus into Dark deeds, and Hermione along with him. She might not at all like any of these people, but she  _refused_  to let anyone sneer at her for being a bad host. Hermione's mother had always insisted on the importance of squirrelling away gender-neutral, generic-yet-useful gifts on the odd chance that some unexpected guest might arrive for Christmas.

Hermione had been in the habit of it since she'd been a girl and while she certainly had quite the collection of things packed away in an extended box inside her trunk, it wouldn't hurt to have a few more. The beauty of magic meant she could craft hats and scarves and jumpers and blankets and other such things all at once, provided she had enough needles. And all could be magically altered to fit whomever she might gift them to. Knowing that she might very well have call for handing them over as gifts to snobby Death Eaters, Hermione had dug out some of her nicer wools, and was using them to create all myriad of items. If she didn't give them away, she'd keep them for herself, and Hermione was having a decidedly wonderful time using bright, yet alluring color blends that would entirely break up the monotony of the regular Death Eater black.

Even more amusing to Hermione was the fact that, should she gift such things to these people here in her home, they would, by rule of common courtesy and decency, be forced to don them with gritted teeth barely concealed by insincere smiles. She couldn't wait to watch all the surly, snobby, positively rude Death Eaters all dressed in hats and scarves and gloves and jumpers of the brightest colours she could rustle up from the depths of her trunk. She had been giggling to herself for several minutes throughout the crafting of a bright purple jumper that she would delight in handing over to Bellatrix Lestrange should the bitch pay her a visit tomorrow.

Hermione had been having a field day with patterns on the front, too. Some had letters for specific Death Eaters. Others had all been decorated, to Hermione's glee, with a woolen recreation of the Dark Mark. Hermione couldn't wait to have them all come by, just so she could watch them all awkwardly stand around in red, blue, yellow, purple, pink, green and orange jumpers with black and white interwoven throughout to create alluring patterns. No matter her intention to irk these people, she also wanted to show off her fine skills and she'd been channeling much of the excess magic within her, courtesy of Severus, to create the smoothest, softest, most alluring garments she could muster.

For Severus himself, Hermione had set to work on an intricately decorated blanket of the softest Puffeskin wool she'd ever purchased. She'd bought several balls, intending to knit her mother a jumper, and had many left over. A little color-change spell and a few Geminio charms had left her with enough to weave Severus the finest blanket he would ever own. Doubting he would accept anything in a warm red, Hermione had chosen shades of black, white, grey and some warm earthy tones to begin knitting an enormous, triple weave, cable-stitch blanket that would keep him toasty and warm even in the dungeons at Hogwarts should all the fires in the castle be dowsed.

She'd considered designing him a fancy pattern to weave into the work, but she'd realized that anything too specific to Severus's interests – which she actually knew very little about, outside of Potions and the Dark Arts – might make her seem like she was trying too hard. Instead, she was pouring all her hopes of keeping him warm, and safe, and ensuring he would have pleasant dreams, into the wool as she wove the blanket, winding threads of her very magic into the creation with such care that her core practically throbbed with the expenditure, but Hermione didn't mind. She had the magic and the energy to spare, and she wanted to ensure that Severus would use the blanket and that it would provide him comfort.

Indeed, she'd woven a little of the hope to keep the occupants of each garment she knitted warm and cozy, because no matter that they might end up belonging to Death Eaters she loathed, they might be more inclined to repeated use if they actually made the wearer feel warm and safe. She didn't want to just give away things that would be wasted on these people, no matter that most of them deserved a good Killing Curse to the back of the skull, rather than the gift of warmth and snugness.

When she had enough garments to gift every single Death Eater that had attended tonight's feast – having counted them during the meal to better hand over the information to the Order of just what they were up against – Hermione smiled to herself and flicked her wand at her trunk, watching rolls of wrapping paper, ribbons, bows, tags, and spell-o-tape all come dancing out. She used magic to wrap all of them, ensuring they would look as good as store-bought gifts, and she tagged those that had been weaved with a specific Death Eater in mind.

When all of them were complete, the one for Severus undoubtedly the biggest and brightest of the bunch – lavished with an enormous gold bow and enough ribbon-curls to choke a dragon – Hermione climbed out of bed and scuffed her feet into her slippers before levitating all the gifts down the hall and away through the house. She flicked her wand to light the lanterns as she went, lighting up the whole house to better navigate it and to ensure nothing and no one could jump out at her.

It really  _was_  a nice house, she decided as she wandered across a landing and down a spiral flight of stairs that she recalled following Severus up earlier. After a few wrong turns, Hermione found herself in the warmly lit sitting room with the enormous Christmas tree. The baubles and tinsel glittered in the light of the hearth fire and the sight warmed her heart. It really was a very pretty house, and Christmas really was her favourite time of the year. It was a shame that it had been ruined by her abduction and her forced committal of murder this evening, not to mention the fight she'd had with Harry, but Hermione supposed things could have been worse.

Carefully, Hermione arranged all of the gifts under the tree and she smiled when she saw the enormous pile of them all, gathered together and putting all of her previous years of shopping and gift-giving to shame. She wished her mother were there. The woman would be smiling widely, excitedly clapping her hands and congratulating Hermione on making so many new 'friends'. Of course, if the woman knew the true nature of her relationship with more than half of the gift recipients, she would sure sob in horror and try to insist that Hermione leave the magical world forever.

She dreaded telling the woman about her marriage to Severus. She had meant it when she'd told him that it was unlikely her mother and father would mind that she was married to a man, nineteen years her senior, but they would certainly take issue with his foul temper, his rudeness, and his fierce scowl. Before she could focus too long on the impending reactions of her parents, her stomach gave a soft growl and Hermione glanced toward her midriff, frowning.

She'd eaten more than her fill at the feast, but had certainly expended a good deal of energy and magic since then, not to mention having made herself sick with the thought of the brutal way they'd murdered Umbridge.

"Well, Crookshanks," she sighed, spying her familiar where he'd apparently made a bed for himself on the settee by the fire. "I don't suppose you found the way to the kitchens, did you?"

Crookshanks looked over at her lazily, an almost droll expression on his face that suggested her doubt that he'd have done so was misplaced.

"Want to show me?" she asked the cat hopefully. "I don't want to get lost and wander off into the wrong wing of this place in the middle of the night when I'm hunting for a snack."

Crookshanks yowled at her, stretching on the settee and looking very much like he'd rather stay and bask in the warmth there by the fire where he would undoubtedly shed enough fur to make a second cat, had she wanted to.

"Please?" Hermione asked the Kneazle politely. "I'll give you a belly rub if you show me the way."

That got a happy little trill and the cat climbed to his feet, stretching languidly before jumping down and padding over to wind himself around her legs. Hermione laughed.

"Pushover," she accused him, scratching behind his ears. "I'd have offered a belly-rub and a full grooming session for food this evening."

He meowed at her and nipped her ankle in punishment before dashing away out the door. Hermione laughed again, following after him, flicking her wand to light the lanterns the entire way there, not at all liking the ominous feeling of being watched that she seemed unable to shake as she wound her way through the halls behind her familiar.

"Crooks?" Hermione asked in a whisper when he led her across the entrance hall before he suddenly stopped and began to growl, arching up and hissing.

Hermione looked in the direction he was scowling, and her heart clenched when large yellow-green eyes glowed from the darkened corner of the room directly beside the front door.

"Greyback?" she asked quietly, levelling her wand at the wolf.

Crookshanks hissed again, charging forward a few steps as though he might drive the wolf away. Hermione didn't like the way the wolf slowly rose from where he'd apparently been stretched on his stomach on the floor to slowly stand to his full height. Which just so happened to be just about level with Hermione's own height.

"What are you doing here?" she asked of the werewolf warily when he blinked and padded a few steps closer but didn't snarl or bare his fangs at the territorial Kneazle.

Hermione didn't know why she was bothering to talk to him when he couldn't answer her as the wolf. And she didn't much fancy the idea of his transforming back into the man. At least as the wolf, he couldn't say anything vulgar.

Padding even closer, Greyback's eyes traced over her carefully, the same curious expression he'd been wearing out in the snow affixing itself to his canine features.

"I feel certain that you know you're not supposed to be here," Hermione said carefully, not daring to tell him he wasn't welcome. It might be her house, and Severus's, by magic and by blood, but there could be no denying that until the war was over, it would belong in large part to Voldemort and his followers, just as surely as Severus did.

Greyback cocked his head to one side, the sly glint in his eyes making her think he wanted her to believe he couldn't understand her in that form, but Hermione wasn't fooled.

"Crookshanks, come away," Hermione ordered the cat. "You're supposed to show me to the kitchen. Leave the mean werewolf alone."

Crookshanks hissed at Greyback again, charging forward and swiping at the wolf's enormous front paws before streaking away with a yowl when Greyback barked at him. Actually barked, like a dog. Hermione was so startled by the action, and by the whuffing sound he made when Crookshanks raced away, that she jumped before wondering if that was the werewolf version of shouting 'BOO!'.

Shaking her head, Hermione hurried after Crookshanks, not daring to turn her back on Greyback even as the cat led her down another corridor and pushed his way through a door at the end of the hall.

Greyback followed her.

At least twenty elves looked up in surprise when Hermione entered the kitchen backward, her wand trained on the wolf shadowing her steps as he padded down the hall. Her heart was racing inside her chest with fear that he might attack her, and that Snape might come home to find his wife's throat ripped out. Merlin, what if that had been Voldemort's plan, all along? Use her for the ceremony and then have her killed in her own kitchen on her wedding night.

"Mistress?" one of the elves squeaked. "Is you alright?"

"Just trying to keep the werewolf at bay," Hermione offered, her eyes fixed upon the door.

"He cannot hurt you inside the house, Mistress," one of the elves said. "The very house will protect you. If he tries to lay fang or claw upon you, the floor will eat him."

Hermione blinked, looking down at the elf that tugged on the hem of her shirt.

"Really?" she asked.

"Of course, Mistress," the elf nodded. "You is bound to the land and the Hall. You is charged with protecting it and your magic feeds it's strength. In return, the house will do everything in its power to protect the Mistress and the Master when they be at home."

"Right," Hermione said. "Of course. Because that's what the ceremony is for, among other things. Bloody hell, I need sleep."

"Tupsy be putting you to bed, Mistress?" the elf asked, smiling gently.

"Actually, I came in search of a midnight snack," Hermione said. "You know, before the werewolf showed up."

"A midnight snack!" many of the elves exclaimed excitedly. "Mistress be a midnight snacker! Oh, this is wonderful."

They all clapped excitedly, and Hermione laughed.

"Mistress be sitting here, and we elves be serving you, Mistress Hermione," Tupsy said, leading her over to sit at a small table in the corner by the fire. "You is be wanting tea? Hot chocolate? Eggnog? If you is be trying to sleep, maybe some warm milk?"

Hermione smiled at the exuberance as the elves clustered around her, though her eyes darted back toward the door, expecting Greyback to invade the kitchen since he'd followed her there.

"Maybe some hot chocolate?" Hermione asked. "With marshmallows?"

The elves rushed to make it.

"What you be hungry for snacking on, Mistress?" Tupsy wanted to know.

"Oh. I don't know. Anything, really."

She should have been more specific, she realized when all twenty of the elves hurried over offering her sandwiches, cakes, biscuits, stew, mashed potatoes, an entire pot-roast, all manner of puddings and even a salad.

She laughed as she took a chicken and lettuce sandwich, a caramel tart, and a Christmas cookie from the offered plates.

"Will that be enough Mistress?" Tupsy asked, worriedly. "You is being held prisoner here for many days with no food. Tupsy watched over you, but you is not be waking to be eating, Mistress. You need to keep up your strength."

Hermione smiled kindly.

"I promise I'll ask for more if I'm still hungry, Tupsy," Hermione assured the elf. "What are you all doing up at this hour, anyway? It's nearly dawn."

"We elves be preparing the Christmas lunch, Mistress," Tupsy said proudly. "You been making use of the tree, eh? Tupsy saw you with the presents, Mistress. Very many presents for Mistress's many friends?"

Hermione sighed. "I suppose it looks that way, doesn't it?"

"Is it to be looking another way, Mistress?" Tupsy asked curiously. "You is be wrapping a big present for the Master, no?"

"I did, yes," Hermione smiled, then. Her heart warming at the thought of the gift she'd crafted for Severus.

"He be home soon," Tupsy said. "Tupsy knows. Is Mr Werewolf to be joining you, Mistress? We is keeping him out of the kitchen if you not want to see him. He be known for raiding the kitchen when he be hungry, so we banned him unless he be invited in."

Hermione laughed, incredulous at their magic.

"Doesn't he object?" Hermione asked.

"He snarls a lot," Tupsy nodded. "But he not be Master here. He only be guest. And guests be being corralled by the elves lest they be wandering where the Masters not like."

Hermione laughed out loud at the very thought.

"I suppose I had better see what he wants. Is he human, or still the wolf?"

Tupsy tipped his head to one side, his ears swiveling back and forth as he listened.

"He be transformed to human, Mistress. He be wanting to speak with you, Tupsy thinks."

Hermione sighed.

"Very well," she said. "Let him in. But if he tries anything, feel free to beat him to death with cooking pans."

Tupsy grinned evilly. "It will be Tupsy's pleasure, Mistress," he said, snapping his fingers so that the kitchen door creaked open to reveal the human version of Fenrir Greyback.

Hermione blushed when she noticed that he wore only a long fur cloak that she suspected he'd made himself. It was made from wolf fur and it was barely tied to cover his modesty. Hermione doubted he had any when his eerily glowing and still mostly lupine eyes settled upon her face.

"Hello, girly," he greeted her in a gravelly, low voice that made her tremble with fear. Merlin, even in human form he sounded like a hungry wolf.

"Mr Greyback," Hermione said carefully, inclining her head toward him. "Will you be joining me for a midnight snack?"

" _Mr Greyback_?" he scoffed, a laugh rolling from between his sharp teeth. "Oooh, and she even has fine manners and a respect for those no one else bothers to notice? Just what  _has_  Snape gotten himself into, eh?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows before flicking her wand at the chair opposite hers, turning it outward to invite him to join her.

"Tupsy, perhaps some hot chocolate for Mr Greyback? And maybe a chocolate-based pudding of some kind?" Hermione asked of the elf politely.

"Not going to offer me a bloody steak and make me sit on the floor?" he asked, baring his teeth as though the offer of chocolate annoyed him, though he strode across the kitchen and dropped into the seat opposite her.

"You've already had dinner, as I recall," Hermione said delicately. "Now, it's time for pudding."

He laughed.

Throwing his head back, the werewolf laughed as though he found her to be hilarious and Hermione nibbled her Christmas cookie nervously, wondering what he wanted that he might deign to shift shape and impose upon her at such an early hour of the morning. Tracing her eyes over him, Hermione noticed that when he wasn't half-way toward the wolf, he was actually rather handsome, in a Wildman kind of way. His beard was thick and full, reaching almost to his collarbones. It lined his jaw and covered his cheeks. His eyebrows were thick too, and his dark brown hair was just a shade darker than her own curls, hanging about his shoulders in an untidy tangle that looked more windswept than matted. His eyes were unsettling, and even in human form, his teeth were too sharp to be considered normal.

He didn't say anything as he reined in his laughter, accepting the hot chocolate and the entire chocolate cake that Tupsy set in front of him with a grunt of acknowledgement to the elf - something that surprised Hermione immensely.

"So," Greyback said after taking a hefty bite out of his cake and wolfing it down. "You're Potter's Mudblood."

"And you're Voldemort's Mutt?" Hermione guessed, offended by the title.

"Touchy one, eh girly?" he asked, baring his teeth a little.

"No," she shook her head. "I just prefer not to be demeaned for something I cannot change. Perhaps you empathize?"

"I wouldn't change what I am," he shook his head.

"Nor would I," Hermione answered quietly. "What do you want, Mr Greyback?"

"You smell like wolf," he informed her, tipping his head to one side before leaning toward her, sniffing loudly.

He wrinkled his nose after a few sniffs, and snorted loudly. "Well, right now you smell like Snape and sex and way too much magic," he corrected himself, coughing a little as though her scent offended his sensitive nose. "But there's hints of wolf on you, too."

"I hugged Remus earlier," Hermione offered.

"Lupin?" Greyback asked, tipping his head to one side and looking like he wanted to sniff her again. "Didn't think the renegade pup liked the idea of biting anyone. You a part of his pack?"

"I only said he hugged me. Remus has never bitten me," Hermione frowned. "He never would. He abhors the idea of infecting anyone else?"

"You done blood magic with him?" Greyback raised his eyebrows. "Didn't think the pup went in for the Dark. Blood magic is Dark, girly."

"Remus and I have never done blood-magic. I'm not a part of his pack. Harry is, of course But I'm not."

"You sure?" he asked, frowning at her. "You smell wolf."

"Because I hugged Remus," Hermione said, frowning at him. "I know Severus seems to think that I share a pack-bond with Remus and Harry, but Remus has never bitten me, and I've never performed blood-magic with Remus or Harry."

"You've done  _something_. If you're not linked to them, you're linked to someone, girly. I can smell it on you," Greyback said, leaning closer and sniffing her again before coughing and pulling away. "Or I could, before you basted yourself in Snape's scent. And whatever link you have to a pack was passed to Snape tonight for the ritual," Greyback nodded cocking his head. "Potter passed his to the Dark Lord, you know?"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione frowned at him.

"Riddle needed Potter's blood for his reincarnation to circumvent his mother's blood-spell to protect her pup when the Dark Lord came for him. Potter's blood runs through the Dark Lord's veins, and with it the Pack-Bond to Lupin."

Hermione dropped her mug of hot chocolate, ruining her sandwich and her caramel tart, and making Tupsy and the other elves all gasp, hurrying forward to help clean up the mess.

"Are you sure?" Hermione breathed, reaching for Greyback's hand when he made to lift his own mug to his face.

He eyed her hand as she touched him without fear or disgust, but Hermione barely noticed, her heart pounding inside her chest.

"It's why he never slaughtered Pettigrew," Fenrir said quietly. "Even when that sniveling rat deserved it, the Dark Lord couldn't kill him, and he never figured out why, until recently. He had no idea that he and Potter share a pack-bond, in addition to all that Darkness infesting both of them."

"What Darkness?" Hermione frowned.

"The whispery kind that makes Potter so difficult to control and so volatile. The part of the Dark Lord tangled up inside him," Greyback said, frowning at her in return. "You didn't know?"

"You're saying that Voldemort and Harry are bound by some kind of… soul magic?" Hermione asked. "In addition to sharing a blood-magic-borne pack-bond?"

Greyback nodded.

Hermione frowned at him, dread pooling inside her stomach.

"Like a Horcrux?" she asked very softly, staring wide eyed at the werewolf.

Greyback narrowed his eyes and Hermione suspected that he didn't rightly know what a Horcrux was. She didn't explain it to him.

"All I know is that it's a bit of the same stuff that sparks inside the Dark Lord and keeps him ticking," Greyback said. "Only it's shoved inside Potter, same as it's shoved inside that fucking snake."

"Why are you telling me?" Hermione frowned, trembling in her seat. "And what does that have to do with Pettigrew?"

Greyback shrugged. "Just pointing out the links. Don't reckon Lupin's in touch enough with his wolf to know the Dark Lord is part of his Pack."

Hermione didn't imagine he was, either.

"Isn't there a way to sever the pack-bond?" she asked.

"Death," Greyback shrugged.

"You just said that the pack-bond prevented Voldemort from killing Pettigrew."

"It did," Greyback nodded. "You can't kill a pack-mate, see? Not unless you're the Alpha. And he's not. The Dark Lord didn't kill Pettigrew. He couldn't, because he wasn't his Alpha."

"Remus was," Hermione frowned. "But… doesn't that mean that Remus shared a pack-bond with Pettigrew all that time while he was Scabbers, when he faked his death?"

Greyback shook his head. "Came to me. Had me bite him into the pack without passing on the lycanthropy to sever his bond to Lupin."

"You just said that Voldemort couldn't kill him because of his bond to Remus, because they were pack-mates. If he was still a pack-mate, and Remus believed him dead, doesn't that mean he could've killed him, after all?"

Greyback smirked. "Nope," he said, popping the 'p' before shoveling another large mouthful of cake onto his tongue.

Hermione frowned, perplexed. She'd never been able to complete her research about lycanthropic pack-bonds during her third year because all the books on it had been mysteriously missing from the library. Something she now believed had been Remus's fault, especially if he'd been suspicious by then about his pack-bond to Sirius and to Pettigrew.

"You just said you can't kill a pack-mate, but that Pettigrew was no longer part of Remus's pack."

"Yep," Greyback nodded.

"I'm confused," Hermione confessed.

"Bet that's a new sensation for you, eh girly?" Greyback grinned wolfishly, apparently having learned of her bookish reputation. "Can't kill a pack-mate unless you're the Alpha. But changing allegiance to a new Alpha doesn't sever the pack-bond from your 'birth' pack. It's why wolves don't change packs too often. Pettigrew was lost to Lupin, but still protected from the rest of the pack by the bond. It's why Black failed at killing him, and he at killing Black that day when Black was arrested."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"But that means… Harry and Voldemort  _can't_  kill each other, even though they're destined to do so," she said.

"Yep," Greyback said. "But only while he wears that body, see? He broke Lily's blood-spell with the reincarnation ritual, so he can touch him and hurt him now, but he can't kill him."

"But that means… he needs a new body?" Hermione guessed. "Because it's not the soul that is connected by the pack-bond, only the flesh and blood form."

Greyback winked at her, his mouth full of cake.

Hermione frowned for a long moment while Greyback stared at her, seeming to be waiting for something to click. Her sleep-deprived mind worked through the information slowly, trying to untangle the web of misdirection. When she landed on the truth, her eyes shot wide and she gasped aloud, a strangled sound passing her lips in her horror.

"Figured it out, eh?" Greyback chuckled. "Good. Question is, what're you going to do about it, girly?"

Hermione shook her head slowly from side to side as a tear trickled down her cheek to drip from her chin with her utter despair.

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered.

"You're Potter's Mudblood," he reiterated as though that made all the sense in the world.

"I have to tell Severus," Hermione muttered, her face pale and her hands trembling.

"No!" Greback said, lunging forward and gripping her wrists tightly.

Hermione jerked in surprise at the attack, staring wide-eyed at him across the table.

"You can't tell Snape," Greyback said softly, darting a glance at the elves in the kitchen as they all stilled, watching him to see if he was going to hurt her. "He's the Dark Lord's man, through and through. Don't ever doubt it, girly. I know. I can smell it on him. His loyalty has  _never_  wavered from the Dark Lord. And the Dark Lord can't know that you know."

"Why?" Hermione frowned, staring into his wolf-yellow eyes in confusion, terror making her tremble in her seat, but not in fear of the werewolf. No, her fear was born of what the Dark Lord planned to do and why it was that he'd married Snape off and why he'd chosen  _her_.

"Because if you do anything to make yourself useless for his task, like getting yourself linked to Lupin's pack, then the Dark Lord has no more use for you, Granger," Greyback hissed into her face, his breath sweet with the chocolate he'd been eating. "You've put it together. You know he needs a body that isn't bound by pack-magic to keep him from killing Potter. You  _know_  why he wants you."

Hermione noted that he was being very careful to keep from saying exactly what it was that Voldemort wanted from her and she realized he didn't trust the elves not to tell Snape.

"I don't see why I can't tell Severus?" she frowned at him.

"Because Snape is Voldemort's man," Greyback said. "Use your brain, girly. If Voldemort asks, Snape will do  _anything_  for the Dark Lord. You hear me?  _Anything_."

"Even surrender his own flesh and blood," Hermione muttered, her eyes wide. "But… Why me?"

Greyback shrugged. "You're the brightest witch of the age, yeah? And Snape's the sharpest wizard I've ever come across, sharper even that the Dark Lord. He needs a body, but it'll only be as useful as the components built into it, see? It's not about the soul that will inhabit that body when you two fuse, it's about the amount of magical power, the amount of smarts, the strength and wiliness of what he'll be given to work with."

"But…." Hermione felt sick. "The soul is the most important part."

"Not to him," Greyback shook his head. "Come on, girly. You're Light, but you're well-read. You  _know_  the rituals surroundings newborn babes, firstborns and all that."

"He can just… extinguish the soul and take the body for his own? Like possession?"

"Possession was what he had with Quirrell; sharing the body while it's inhabited by two souls," Greyback grunted, his eyes darting around the gathered elves, his fangs flashing at them. "He needs full access to the body  _without_  another soul getting in the way, to grow into it."

"But he'd be a newborn again."

"What do you think Aging Potion was invented for?" Greyback hissed. "Use your fuckin' head, girly. When would anyone ever want to be able to prematurely age their body? The goal of many wizards is eternal youth and eternal life. It's an old ritual, very illegal, but it's not an original idea. It's been done many times before. You grow the body you want, you extinguish the soul that comes with it, and you jump your soul into that of the newborn before ingesting Aging Potion to race you through toilet-training and puberty until you're useful again."

"And with a new body, he loses the pack-bond to Harry, but has already broken the blood-spell, and thus, can kill him unimpeded," Hermione breathed, her eyes wide with horror.

"There's no way he'd tolerate a mudblood for any other reason. And he's a bigot, but he's a half-blood, girly. I can smell it on him. Inhabiting the body that's the son of a mudblood and a half-blood makes him a half-blood. He prefers that. Thinks half-bloods are smarter."

"But if he means to enact this with Severus and I, why did he bother with wedding Antonin to Alecto?" Hermione frowned at the werewolf.

"Back-up plan," Greyback whispered. "In case you're already pack-bound to Lupin."

"Am I?" she asked. "Remus has never indicated as much, but Snape thinks I am."

"You're linked to someone," Greyback said, leaning even closer. "Can't smell it on you when you reek of sex, girly. It's faint. Barely linked, if at all. Probably no more than the brush of a scrape against one of Potter's, if it was transferred that way."

"All it takes is the press of two open wounds?" she asked. "No intent?"

"There needs to be intent," Greyback shook his head.

"Then I can't be pack-bound," she shook her head. "Harry probably doesn't even know  _he's_  part of Remus's pack, let alone knowingly and willingly making me a part of that pack."

"You're a part of someone's pack. Saw it pass to Snape when you two were bound."

"Marriage bonds transfer the link?" she frowned. "There's no intent there to make him part of a pack I may or may not be in."

"Marriage binds the two of you for life," Greyback shrugged. "Magic, souls, and blood, are all linked. Anything you are, he becomes, and anything he is, you become. That's how it works. It's why they say that the parents of married couples have welcomed a new daughter or son, see? Makes you part of that family in every sense. Your marriage makes you and Snape two parts of one whole."

"But I'm not a part of a pack," she shook her head. "Remus has never bitten me, or bled on me. And if Harry has, it would be without intent. And you're the only other werewolf I know."

"Might be latent," he frowned at her. "Like your magic. Passed down through your muggle family tree for generations until it sparked together to make you a witch. Pack-bonds are tied to magic, and they're hereditary. If whichever of your ancestors who had magic was part of a pack, you belong to that pack, too. Muggle-born, or not."

"Why are you telling me all this, Fenrir?" Hermione asked quietly, frowning at him when she realized he had slipped out of his chair and was actually kneeling before her chair, clutching her wrists in his large, calloused hands and so close to her that she could count his eyelashes. "You're Voldemort's attack dog. Surely you would be happy that he might soon find a way to kill Harry and thus, take over the world?"

Greyback bared his teeth, darting another glance at the gathered elves before dropping her wrists. He backed off, rocking backward onto his feet before standing tall.

"Forget I mentioned it," he said gruffly, eyeing her seriously and in such a way that suggested forgetting would be foolish. As though she could?

Lord Voldemort wanted Severus Snape to fuck a baby into her belly so that she could carry him a body to term, where he would extinguish that baby's soul, steal her child's body, rapidly age it to adulthood, and then use that form to murder one of her best friends. She didn't think she would ever be able to forget that.

"Were you sent here to determine if I was part of Remus's pack?" she asked, realizing Greyback couldn't divulge anymore without risking word getting back to the Dark Lord.

He nodded, curling his top lip back from his fangs like he was annoyed that she'd figured it out.

"And to kill you, if you were," he told her sinisterly.

"You couldn't kill me inside the house," she said.

"You have to leave eventually," he said. "I'll wait by the door until you do, if I find you're linked to Lupin."

Hermione got the feeling that those had actually been his orders and she realized suddenly why he'd come to her with the problem. It wasn't that he cared if Harry died, or if the Dark Lord possessed and stole her baby. It was that he was tired of being on the leash. Fenrir Greyback wanted out, but he couldn't get out while the Dark Lord lived, and he never would if Voldemort killed Harry. He would, essentially, live forever if he killed Harry. And Greyback was a werewolf. His lycanthropy would prolong his life for a few hundred years because he'd fused with the wolf inside his soul. He was staring down the barrel of eternity in the Dark Lord's service and it was proving to be less than it had been cracked up to be.

He might get to kill and terrorize and infect others as he liked, but he was still chained to a master. But werewolves weren't supposed to have masters, only Alphas. And there was no Alpha alive who could control Fenrir Greyback. If he didn't have an Alpha, he wouldn't stand for a Master. Worse, Voldemort was an unhinged and mentally unstable master. His soul had been ripped into pieces, leaving him maimed and broken inside. And the primal instincts inside all wild animals dictated that the sick, the maimed, the injured, or the rabid were prey, or something to be eliminated for the good of the pack.

Greyback wanted out, and he wanted Hermione's help to do it. The only trouble was that if she  _did_  have a pack-bond to Harry, and she let Voldemort's plan go ahead, they still wouldn't be able to kill each other, and she'd have had to go through the pain and the agony of conceiving, carrying and birthing a child for nothing.

"How will you figure out if I'm part of Remus's pack?" she asked him quietly, darting a glance at the elves, who all looked ready to chase off the seemingly hostile werewolf.

"I'll watch. And I'll wait until you're not reeking of Snape, so I can get your scent."

"And if I'm not, I'll have to carry a body to term for the Dark Lord," she said. "So that Harry can kill him."

Greyback growled at her, but she could see from the glint in his eyes that he knew she'd figured it out.

"But if you  _are_  part of the pack," he said. "Your life is forfeit."

Hermione's eyes widened when she realized that in addition to wanting his freedom from the Dark Lord, Greyback felt the need to warn her that she would be killed on the Dark Lord's orders.

"Hence, the need for the back-up in Carrow and Dolohov," she nodded. "Why not just use them to begin with?"

"Not as bright," Greyback shrugged. "Means less viable offspring, and means the Dark Lord would have less to work with."

"He picked a mudblood because I'm the smartest and most magically gifted witch of this age. Surely he realizes I'm only seventeen and have no intention of having a baby before finishing Hogwarts?" she raised her eyebrows.

"You think he cares about  _your_  plans, girly?" Greyback scoffed. "You'll do as you're fuckin' told, just like the rest of us."

Hermione paled in horror when the reality of this abominable plan hit her like a ton of bricks. The selfish bastard wanted to throw away her life and her future for his own gains. Hermione didn't know why that surprised her, but she felt strangely hurt that Voldemort would go to such lengths just to steal her magic, her brains, and her DNA.

"We'll see about that," Hermione replied quietly, holding Greyback's gaze and knowing he meant that he was sick of doing as he was told and was looking for an ally to get them out of this mess.

He narrowed his eyes, obviously trying to figure out if she meant she'd never do as she was told and have the baby that might save him from the Dark Lord's choke-hold, or if she  _would_  do it, and set them all free.

"Until then, I'll be here," he warned her. "So, you better get used to having the pack on the grounds, coming and going, and having me in the house."

"What about when I return to Hogwarts?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Fenrir shrugged. "I'll haunt Hogsmeade and the Forbidden Forest, I guess. If you live that long."

Hermione nodded her head, her hands trembling around her wand as she reached for the fresh mug of hot chocolate Tupsy had brought to her. Greyback held her gaze for another long minute, the silence palpable with unspoken communication. Eventually, he nodded, too. Hermione watched with fascination and horror when he cracked his neck, turning it left, and then right, before arching his back and transforming, right there in the kitchen.

His hands shortened, his feet lengthened, his face buckled, and his spine elongated, the extra vertebrae of his tail cracking as each one extended under the wolf-pelt robe he wore. Hermione wondered where the robe went, before realizing that it didn't  _go_  anywhere. It became his fur, curling around his body as though becoming one with him and Hermione recognized immediately how he'd achieved control over his lycanthropy outside the full moon. He'd learned the ancient Native American magic of skin-changing via the use of animal pelts, luring out the beast from within and granting him the power of it. He'd found a way to skin his own fur from his body whilst in werewolf form under the glow of the full moon, and thus taken control from the moon and become the very first lycanthropic skin-changer.

Watching as the final transformations worked over him. Hermione realized that Fenrir Greyback was a lot smarter than most people gave him credit for. He nodded to her, once more the wolf, before he turned and padded away, his claws clicking on the cold marble floor as he nosed open the kitchen door and returned to his post by the entrance to Selwyn Hall. Relegated to playing Guard Dog, once again.

No wonder he wanted out.

"Mistress?" Tupsy asked very softly when Greyback was gone.

Hermione looked over at the elf, realizing idly from the cold sting upon her cheeks, that she was crying.

"I'm alright, Tupsy," Hermione assured the elf.

"Tupsy can chase him from the grounds if Mistress likes?" the elf offered, patting her knee kindly.

Hermione laughed. "That's alright, Tupsy, though I do appreciate the offer. Unfortunately, Mr Greyback is just acting upon the orders of the Dark Lord. As must we all, it seems."

"Even you, Mistress?" Tupsy asked in a whisper so soft, she almost didn't hear it.

Hermione pressed her lips together, eyeing the elf for a moment before sighing and nodding. "Even me, Tupsy. At least for now."

"Not forever?" Tupsy asked and Hermione would swear hope shone in the scrawny creature's enormous eyes. It occurred to her that the Dark Lord had come into this very home and been guest to the Selwyns countless times before he'd killed them for the sake of giving them this house.

Hermione wondered why he'd bothered. According to Greyback's intel, Voldemort wanted her and Severus married for the sake of having them shag, conceive and birth a tiny baby into the world. He wanted to steal their child and inhabit that body for himself, and Hermione couldn't understand what the purpose of making them Lord and Lady of Selwyn Hall was for the sake of doing so. They could have a baby just as easily without being married and being tied to an estate.

For that matter, there were surely other combinations of magical blood that would better suit his needs. Certainly, she and Severus were both individually powerful magical beings, but Hermione couldn't ignore the fact that any child conceived by her and Severus would surely not be all that attractive. The poor child would be doomed to greasy, yet wildly curly hair, would undoubtedly inherit Snape's hooked nose, and would probably be saddled with crooked, buck-teeth. She winced at the unfortunate imagining of such a child, made all the worse by the knowledge that Voldemort planned to claim that body for his own.

Perhaps, given his own currently hideous form, anything would be an improvement, but Hermione rather thought that if he was hoping for an attractive form, he'd be better off baby-snatching a child conceived by Dolohov and Carrow. No matter the ugliness of his cruelty and apparent madness, Dolohov was an attractive specimen, and while Carrow had a rather pixie-like face, she also bore luscious, long dark hair and alluring eyes. Hermione could see that much. They would surely have far prettier children.

"No, Tupsy," Hermione answered the elf gently, reaching to pat his bony hand where it still rested comfortingly on her knee. "Not forever. Not if I have anything to say about it."

The elf beamed at her, squeezing her hand in return.

"Thank you, Mistress," the elf murmured.

Hermione nodded, accepting the handkerchief another of the elves pressed into her hand and drying her cheeks off.

"You're very welcome," Hermione said. "I think I might await Severus's return in bed, if you don't mind? And I believe I owe Crookshanks a belly rub."

Crookshanks meowed at her from where he was sitting by the door, washing his ears.

"We bring some warm milk to the bedroom for you, Mistress. Master be wanting something when he returns, you think?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not sure, Tupsy. Perhaps some water, or maybe some whiskey? I'm not sure of his habits."

Tupsy frowned. "But you be his wife," the elf said, apparently baffled.

Hermione smiled self-deprecatingly. "And yet the man is practically a stranger."

Tupsy blinked, seeming confused and perhaps a little sympathetic.

"Don't worry yourself about it, Tupsy. Snape and I will figure things out and learn to cooperate, in time. Until then, I'm certain he might appreciate some water and some whiskey. And perhaps a ginger snap or two? I've seen him eat some of those in the Great Hall when he thinks no one is paying attention."

"Tupsy will bring," the elf nodded, smiling once more.

"Thank you, all of you," Hermione said and the elves all squawked, flapping their enormous ears at her in chastisement for daring to thank them for their service.

"Goodnight, Mistress," the elves chorused as she got to her feet and strolled toward the door.

"Goodnight, everyone."

Crookshanks wound around her ankles when she stopped and held the door for him, begging to be picked up and carried. Hermione smiled, indulging him as she scooped him into her arms to carry him back to her bedroom. She cuddled the cat close, longing for the comfort and familiarity of her family and her friends. She almost wished she could apparate back to the Burrow tonight and sneak into Ron's room, knowing he would hold her all night and tell her everything was going to be alright. He would know what to do about Voldemort's plan, and might offer advice regarding Greyback's suggestions about keeping this from Severus.

Hermione didn't see how she could. After all, Voldemort's plan to have her impregnated would require Severus's participation. And the man had spent Merlin only knew how long concocting her a contraceptive potion that might better keep her from suffering the negative effects. Not to mention she was still only seventeen. The age difference was no big deal to her, but the fact that he was still her Professor, was. Hermione knew she could hide their relationship enough not to fear being unfairly accused of receiving better grades as a result of her marriage, but that hinged on them not getting caught. And people would certainly know she was shagging him if she let him get her pregnant. Yet, if Greyback was right, Severus would have no choice but to impregnate her, no matter his own distaste for the task, just because Voldemort had ordered him to.

Could she bring it to him, knowing it was Voldemort's plan, without risking admitting to knowledge of the plan and acquiescing? Could she knowingly endanger him by refusing to cooperate, should he be asked to do so? Worse, would he understand the full gravity and horror of Voldemort's plan? Would he  _care_  that the man planned to force her to carry a baby to term, potentially putting her body through hell, only to extinguish their child's soul and wear his meat-suit around as though it were his own? Based on what little she had experienced of Severus's patience and tolerance for children, she doubted he daydreamed about fatherhood. He would probably  _prefer_  not to have to raise the child through infancy with all the tears and dirty nappies, and sleepless nights. Especially if Voldemort was inhabiting the body.

Pressing a kiss to the top of Crookshanks head, Hermione hurried down the hall, spying Greyback once again spread out on the floor by the front door. He didn't open his eyes when she approached, and Hermione took a few tentative steps in his direction, eyeing warily. She couldn't tell if he was asleep, or just faking it. She didn't want to startle him awake, lest he lunge and bite her in his surprise. But she also couldn't help but notice that the stone floor looked hard and cold, and unforgiving. Furred, though he was, the breeze whistling in under the door was icy cold and it  _was_  Christmas. Frowning a little, Hermione pulled her wand from the pocket on her pyjamas, even knowing that he loathed wands, and she gave it a little twirl, conjuring a large, soft cushion beneath the werewolf. Another flick summoned one of the spare blankets she'd knitted years ago as a gift from the depths of her trunk. It came whizzing down the stairs and Hermione caught it quickly. The wool wasn't all that soft, but she doubted Greyback was going to mind. It would be touching his fur, not his skin. The deep blue colour was what had attracted her to it, initially, and Hermione smoothed her fingers over it, lowering Crookshanks to the floor and watching the cat narrow his eyes on the werewolf.

When she glanced at Greyback, she spied one eyelid just barely slitted open. Hermione almost laughed, realizing he wanted her to think he was still sleeping, but also wanted to make sure she wasn't attempting anything sinister. Knowing he was awake boosted her confidence, and against her better judgement, even knowing he was responsible for Remus's suffering and for the murder and infection of countless people, Hermione squatted beside him and spread the blanket over his enormous, furred body.

She didn't dare actually touch him, knowing from experience with Remus that touch meant both more, and less, to lycanthropes. But she did carefully spread the blanket over him, tucking the edges in around him to ensure he'd be warm enough. She even made sure to fully cover his tail, spreading it until only his front paws and his muzzle were exposed. She very carefully spread it over his neck and his head right up to the back of his long ears. She doubted he'd appreciate having them covered, so Hermione left them exposed, tucking the blanket in around his huge shoulders.

When she pulled back after burrowing her fingers ever so slightly under him to tuck him in properly, his eyes were open, and he regarded her unblinkingly. Hermione froze, still squatting well inside his personal space, easily within lunging distance should he seek to rip her throat out. She wondered what was going on inside his mind for a moment, suspecting he'd never had anyone tuck him in, or dare to approach him while he was in wolf form. She offered a very small smile, just the faintest twitching of her lips at the corners.

Hermione didn't bother trying to talk to him, or to explain herself. He was a wolf, so he could hardly respond. Pushing back to her feet and standing tall, Hermione shrugged at him, watching the way his eyes followed her, his expression comically baffled, considering the form he wore. He couldn't ask why she was being nice to him, despite his having threatened her and his wretched history, and Hermione wasn't going to tell him. She might soon find herself sharing a corner with the ruthless lycanthrope, since it seemed he was ready to turn on Voldemort, and it would benefit her to have him consider her an ally, or at the very least, a prickly but tolerable creature he didn't need to rip the throat out of.

"Happy Christmas, Mr Greyback," Hermione said quietly as she scooped up Crookshanks once more, cuddling the cat to her chest and nodding politely to Greyback before turning away and climbing the steps back toward the bedroom she hoped to share with Severus, just as soon as he returned.


	21. Chapter 21

Severus Snape apparated directly onto the grounds of Selwyn Hall in the early hours of the morning on Christmas Day, and blinked rapidly, stumbling back a step at the sight of the bright glow emitting from every window of the house. Merlin's little green apples, he would  _kill_  someone if the Dark Lord or the Death Eaters had come back to the Hall following Dolohov's ceremony this evening.

He wanted sleep, confound it all! And he would get precious little enough of it as it was, given Miss Granger's presence in his life, and in his bed, henceforth. Snarling out a foul oath and drawing his wand, Severus cast a  _Homenum Revelio_  to detect just how many people might await him inside the hall. The rapid pop of two bright red sparks puffing from the end of his wand did nothing to comfort Severus. One, undoubtedly, would be Miss Granger. Yet it seemed that she was not alone. Severus loathed the prickle along his psyche and the tormented mutterings inside his head Dumbledore had stirred up, casting suspicion upon the girl.

Knowing his luck, he'd storm inside to find the girl fucking the youngest Weasley boy. Severus curled his lip, stalking across the snowy ground to the front door and narrowing his eyes when he spied the enormous wolf-prints that lead to the door. Dear Merlin,  _that_  wasn't promising. It was clear from the way the prints changed just before the door from wolf to human shape that Greyback must've been inside the Hall, and Severus's gut twisted with what felt suspiciously like fear at the thought that the werewolf must be the cause of the second presence he sensed inside.

Granger might very well be at claw-point and Severus despised the way that thought filled him with dread. Flinging open the front door to the Hall with far more force that was strictly necessary, a feral snarl met his ears as he stalked across the threshold. Severus cast a Shield Charm, but he needn't have bothered, or to have worried about Miss Granger, it seemed.

There, sitting just inside the door of the Hall, was the enormous werewolf. He had a blue knitted blanket draped around his body, and though his eyes were open, and his hackles were raised, he hadn't lifted his head from where it rested upon his paws. The barmy witch had tucked in the volatile, giant werewolf? Severus curled his lip at Gryeback in return, watching the way the lycan lowered his hackles and rolled his eyes at the dramatic entry he'd made.

"Been terrorizing my wife in my absence, have you?" Severus drawled, keeping his wand in his hand, though he noted that in addition to the blanket, the werewolf rested upon a large, soft pillow. The witch had made a bed for the wretched creature? Severus rolled his eyes. Obviously, he was going to have to educate her in further depth about lycanthropes.

He'd thought that having her see this monster gnawing on the human remains of the witch they'd killed might've cured her of notions that all lycans were like Lupin; weak, and scared, and sickly, and usually filled with a destructive self-loathing that bordered on masochism. He'd  _thought_  the witch had more sense than to try coddling the wretched bastard responsible for the largest outbreak of lycanthropy within Britain in more than five hundred years. Apparently, he'd been wrong. The little fool had clearly snuck close enough to the undoubtedly dozing wolf, and tucked him in like he was a small child, or a beloved pet.

Greyback held his gaze distrustingly, obviously not one of his biggest fans. Severus wasn't surprised. Greyback wanted out from under the Dark Lord's thumb, and he believed Severus to be one of the Dark Lords closest confidants. Just as Severus needed him to. The idea that the wolf was there didn't bode well for him, or Miss Granger, but Severus suspected he must be there on the Dark Lord's orders. There was no other way the werewolf would tolerate sharing his space with two non lycans, and especially not with someone like Severus.

"If I find any mess as a result of your presence here, Greyback, I will remove every fang in your muzzle, one at a time. Werewolf teeth are, after all, invaluable in potion-making and my stocks  _are_  running a little low," Severus said.

Greyback rumbled out a growl at him, but he made no move to rise, or to attempt to intimidate him. He clearly knew better. The last unfriendly claw the wolf had laid on him had been at the Dark Lord's behest, but Severus had ensured the wolf paid for following orders, even if he'd had as little say in the matter as the rest of them.

"And if you so much as lay a lascivious eye on my wife, I will remove every fang, and every claw, along with your eyes and your tongue before skinning you alive and then removing your wretched, black heart. Have I made myself clear?" Severus purred dangerously, knowing the werewolf's sensitive sense of smell would pick up on the Darkness swirling and rioting inside his soul, just humming with the thought of butchering him in such a manner. Greyback snarled a little louder in response, but must be too comfortable beneath Granger's blanket to rise.

Stalking away from the beast, Severus flicked his wand, dousing the lanterns throughout the house as he made a beeline for the bedroom. He could only assume, based on how well-lit the mansion was, that his nubile young wife must still be awake, despite having bid him goodnight and tucked herself in before he'd left to meet with Dumbledore. She had also directly violated the order he'd given her about not leaving the bed while he was gone, and given the mischief she'd obviously been into as a result, Severus was thinking that he might just have to punish her for her disobedience.

When he reached the bedroom, he paused in the doorway, eyeing the petite witch curiously and enjoying just a moment's more reprieve to observe her without being forced to interact with her. She hadn't noticed his presence yet, despite the slamming of doors and the dousing of lights that had taken place on his trip to their bedroom. She was too consumed by the fact that she was carefully and painstakingly grooming her familiar, having seated the cat upon her vanity table while she herself sat on the stool, brush in hand, repeatedly stroking the instrument through the creature's thick fur. She was crying, Severus noticed idly, pausing in the now-dark hallways beyond her view and examining her features in the reflection as she worked.

She didn't seem to be aware that she was crying, and Severus scowled, loathing that despite his disgust for tears, the witch's motivations for shedding them piqued his curiosity. Did she sob with the knowledge that, barring death, she would never be free of him? Was she horrified beyond imagining – finally – to have been bound to such a wretch as Severus? Did she lament the loss of her freedom, and the end of her life as an unmarried young woman despite her youth? Was she just overwrought after such a trying holiday?

Severus loathed that he wanted answers to all of those questions, because he highly doubted he would get any of them. She didn't speak to the cat as she groomed him, and Severus wondered if she was even aware she was still brushing the creature. She seemed entirely lost in thought, her mind far away and concerned with other things while her body continued on auto-pilot until such time that she focused, once more.

Worse still was the fact that, despite the puffy redness of her eyes, and the tear tracks staining her faintly blotched cheeks, the magic binding them so freshly as man and wife made him want her. His cock twitched inside his trousers, no matter the fact that he'd had more sex in the past twenty-four hours than he recalled having since he'd been a teenager, himself. Knowing it was part of the bonding magic that tied them together did nothing to cool his ardor and Severus frowned heavily in the dark, wondering what bothered the witch and how he might distract her by fucking her all over again.

Sweeping into the room with all the silence she had tried, and failed, to emulate earlier, Severus crept up behind her, noting that her eyes didn't even dart to his reflection as he joined her. The cat meowed at him, purring loudly as the witch continued grooming him, though by now, his fur gleamed and shone with care. Severus curled his lip with distaste for the creature, never having had the patience for a familiar of any kind.

Just as he opened his mouth, intent on drawing Granger's attention back to him. The girl's brown eyes focused sharply, settling on his in the mirror. It surprised him that she didn't startle at the sight of him behind her. She didn't speak, either. She simply held his gaze for a long moment, her eyes seeming to search for something she wouldn't voice. Severus remained silent as well, watching the way she slowly set down the cat-brush and stroked the beast twice before patting his side and urging him toward the floor, once more.

She remained seated for a long time, looking positively ghastly with the puffy eyes, the tear tracks, and the positively wretched flannel pyjamas that Severus had already resolved to burn just as soon as he next peeled her out of them.

"Did he lose his temper?" she asked finally, strangely detached, as though whatever was bothering her had withdrawn her into the same kind of Occlumency induced state he usually endured after a particular trying meeting with the Dark Lord.

Severus shook his head from side to side very slowly. "Albus isn't the type to lose his temper and shout," he said. "He's far too insidious for that. He prefers to induce guilt and remorse in his subjects by letting them know how disappointed he is in us for not doing better."

"Does he wish to see me?" she asked.

"I don't believe so," Severus shook his head. "There is little he can currently gain from doing so. He might request a private meeting with you when term resumes to corroborate the story I gave him, but he is not currently intent on lecturing or chastising you for something that cannot be undone."

She nodded slowly, nibbling her lower lip – a habit she was prone to when she planned to lie to him, and when she was lost in thought, or measuring precise ingredients for a potion. Severus narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.

"Did you have to see the Dark Lord again?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Severus shook his head once more.

"I noticed that in my absence, Greyback made his presence upon the ground known?" Severus asked.

"You knew he was still here?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Severus didn't answer and she narrowed her eyes.

"He stalked me to the kitchens when I got hungry," Hermione said. "The elves have cast some kind of ward to keep him out of the kitchens, though. Apparently he raids the pantry and they don't like it."

"You were in there terrorizing the elves?" Severus demanded.

She shook her head once more. "I was just hungry. I vomited after the ceremony, and so the feast was mostly regurgitated. Prior to that I was unconscious for three days."

Severus narrowed his eyes as the girl slowly rose to her feet, stepping around the stool where she'd been seated and turning to face him boldly. Unbidden, he found himself reaching out to drag the tip of one finger across her tear-stained cheek, showing her the tear he captured and raising his eyebrows.

She eyed the droplet as though it had betrayed her before scrubbing the hem of her shirt over her face.

"Don't worry about it," she sighed when he continued waiting, silently demanding explanation. "I'm just tired."

Severus  _knew_  she was lying.

"Do you imagine that lies for the sake of sparing my feelings will actually benefit this situation, Miss Granger?" Severus asked in a low voice, hating the fact that the flash of her midriff made him hard for her all over again.

"Do you imagine that assuming it has something to do with you every time I cry is normal, or healthy?" she retorted, and Severus wondered if it would always be this way between them.

He might be married to the witch, but beyond her keen mind and her insufferable habit of annoying him during his lessons by answering every question he posed and defying his instructions, he knew very little about her.

"I'm to believe that you are sitting alone, sobbing, for some reason other than your recent marriage to me?" he sneered.

"As a matter of fact, you are," she replied evenly. "There are far more troubling things in my life than you, Severus Snape. To assume you are the worst part of this mess for me is both arrogant, and entirely incorrect. Believe me, there are far worse things going on in my life at this moment than my being married to a man with a wretched temper and a knack for getting me off."

Severus curled his lip at her, annoyed all over again at her boldness.

"I wouldn't expect to get off ever again if you insist on wearing  _those_ in my presence, Miss Granger," Severus sneered, trailing his eyes over her horrid pyjamas.

"Did you imagine me the silk negligee wearing type, Snape?" she challenged, raising her eyebrows and affixing a smirk worthy of Lucius Malfoy upon her face.

"Did you imagine me the type to withhold my thoughts on them to spare your feelings?" he retorted.

Granger's puffy eyes almost sparkled and Severus suspected she actually quite enjoyed provoking him and arguing with him. She enjoyed being allowed to back-talk him as she would never dare as just his student.

"I imagine you'll have to get used to peeling me out of them if you ever want to be laid again over the course of this marriage, sir," she said.

Severus would never admit it, but as he reached out and snagged hold of either side of the wretched flannel of her shirt before jerking it open and sending buttons flying everywhere, he begrudgingly thought that he rather liked the sassy little bitch. She certainly sparked his libido, in any case, and when he discovered that she wore nothing beneath that flannel shirt, Severus smirked wickedly at the witch. Granger, for her part, certainly didn't look scared despite the violence that had utterly ruined her shirt, the buttons pinging off and bouncing away to be lost under the dresser.

"It seems I won't need much practice," he informed the witch, deciding to let her lies from earlier slide for the sake of ravishing her one more time before dawn.

He was bone tired, so he doubted he'd be of much use, and Granger looked beyond tired. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hair was frizzed, yet somehow flat, as though it hadn't the energy to properly coil into the wild ringlets she usually sported. Yet, despite the exhaustion, she stepped closer to him, reaching for the fastening on his cloak without hesitation and beginning to undress him. Severus smoothed his hands over her narrow waist, marveling at the softness of her skin while she shrugged the pyjamas from her shoulders to fall on the floor. She didn't protest when he flicked her pants from her hips, sending her knickers skidding down her legs to puddle around her ankles.

She fought him when he tried to scoop her into his arms, resisting long enough to peel his robes from his torso and reaching for the buckle on his belt.

It jingled as she undid it, the rasp of his fly like a strangely enticing balm to his overwrought mind. Severus could admit, at least to himself, that at that point he simply let his tightly controlled emotions go. She had proven in the face of his earlier lapse in self-control that she wasn't afraid of having him unleash his temper and his considerable power upon her. When she shoved his trousers down his legs, Severus toed off his boots and his socks while she stretched on her toes, tracing her hands over his shoulders and up the back of his neck until she could tangle her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. She leaned into him, pressing her naked form against his and kissing his neck hungrily.

She whined when Severus scooped his hands under the backs of her bare thighs, lifting her until she wrapped her legs around him before carrying her to bed. The breath huffed from her lungs when he reached the edge and let them both fall, landing on top of her and surrendering to the furious emotions coursing through him at the evenings events. He drove himself into her slick heat, lost in the feel of her warm welcome while his mind swarmed with the rage and fury over her capture and the Dark Lord's plans that continued to elude him. He was fucking married, for Merlin's sake, and he had no ide why. Severus couldn't fathom the purpose the Dark Lord had for making him Lord of Selwyn Hall. He couldn't unravel whatever plot it was that the Dark Lord was brewing, and he loathed being in the dark about it all. He loathed even more than he was being manipulated to things he swore he'd never do, and all for a plan he didn't even understand, yet.

Under him, Granger writhed as he hard-fucked her into the mattress and Severus could tell that whatever she been crying about when he arrived was still tormenting her when she dug her nails none too kindly into his back. She raked them into his flesh and she used her heels to spur him on, digging them into his arse and bucking into every thrust like she wanted it harder and faster and completely volatile, as he'd given her in the shower.

Severus didn't bother questioning it, only grateful that she seemed to crave it when he was already so intent of giving it. The bedframe creaked with their vigor, but Severus ignored the sound as he pounded into her, his thoughts swirling with the need to unravel the Dark Lord's plot and needing to figure out if Dumbledore was right and Granger had manipulated him into fucking her to begin with for some ulterior motive. He fucked her with the rage he felt at being forced to hand over his wretched father's name to a witch who, for all her flaws, deserved better than a wretch like him. He fucked her with his self-loathing, and his anger at this end to his solitude. He fucked her with the worry and the concern that they'd be found out and exposed at Hogwarts, likely costing him his job, and with it, his ability to avoid many of the more degrading acts of service expected from many of the Death Eaters when he didn't have a reputation to maintain and didn't have responsibilities he couldn't just drop on a whim whenever it struck his fancy.

He grunted when the little witch threw off his rhythm and rolled him right off her with more power and more rage than he'd ever seen, flipping him to his back upon the mattress before crawling on top of him. She was scowling fiercely, though she emitted a soft groan of agonized pleasure as she sank down on him, once more. Severus watched her, entranced when she began to ride him. She wasn't gentle about it. She gripped the headboard of the bed and she slid up and down his cock, her head tipped back and her back arched as she rolled her hips and ground onto him like that might somehow make her feel better. Severus doubted it would, and he longed to slip into her mind and find out what was driving her to such fury.

He didn't. He was too tired, and too angry in his own right to manage the effort of invading her mind without making eye contact – something he noticed that she was resolutely denying. He'd almost think she was imaging herself to be fucking someone else if not for the way he heard her hissing his name between the little moans of pleasure and grunts of effort she emitted. Bucking up into every downward thrust, Severus dug his fingers into her hips hard enough to leave bruises on the young witch, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to prefer it.

She fucked him like she was desperate for distraction, and Severus found that there was freedom there in that toxic and furious expression of anger and passion and hatred. He certainly enjoyed the view, in any case. When he felt the fizz of heat through his veins, indicating impending orgasm, Severus reached for her clit, slicking his thumb with her juices and swirling the pad of it over the little bundle of nerves. She groaned like she was dying, bouncing faster, grinding down on him harder, rolling her hips like she couldn't get him inside her deep enough.

Severus almost laughed when a little spasm rocked through her just before she clamped down on him tightly, her body pulsing, milking him of everything he had just as soon as he let go. He bucked into her, giving her everything his body could offer while his magic speared into hers and the ordinarily rigid control on his emotions snapped in a glorious explosion of power that rocked through him and into her with such force that he thought he might actually die. She lost consciousness with the power of it, Severus noticed when she slumped down upon his chest and stopping bouncing.

"Granger?" he asked quietly, his throat raw with the strongest urge to scream, and maybe even to cry as he didn't think he'd done since the night Lily had been murdered.

He shook the girl's shoulder lightly, feeling how pliant she was, her weight surrendered to him and her body lax in his hold. She rested against his chest, her breath still coming quickly after their exertions, but her mind blank with unconsciousness. Snorting, amused though he ought not to be, Severus suspected she'd finally depleted her magical core to the point that her body shut down to prevent any further expenditure. He wondered what she'd been doing while he'd been gone that she'd depleted herself to this level, but he was too tired, and she was too unconscious to allow him to seek answers.

Instead, Severus carefully rolled her off him and onto the side of the bed she'd tucked herself into earlier. He summoned his wand and used it to tidy them both up, arranging her petite frame until it was under the covers before settling himself down beside her. It was an almost novel idea to consider sharing his bed with a witch after so long. He very rarely stuck around long enough to actually sleep in another's presence and so the idea of sleeping beside the little witch was both novel, and unnerving at the same time. Fortunately, due to the late hour, the multiple rounds of sex, and the magical expenditure he'd endured for the night, Severus was too tired to dwell on her sleeping presence.

Pausing only long enough to cast a Diagnostic charm over the little witch the ensure she wouldn't be in danger while she slept, he doused the last of the lights in the house and tossed down his wand on the bedside table. Dragging the blankets up to his chin, Severus closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep by counting the breaths his wife took.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Hermione Granger woke to the strangest feeling of warmth and contentment, the feel of someone's body pressed snugly against her own and the scent of bergamot and peppermint surrounding her. Blinking open her eyes, Hermione realized she was spooned around Severus Snape and she almost jerked back in shock, and fear of his reaction.

Indeed, it was only the fear of waking him that kept her from doing so, and Hermione held perfectly still, forcing her body to relax once more. Listening closely, Hermione could both hear and feel that he was still asleep, his breath slow and even, rhythmic with slumber, and she sighed softly in relief. She almost laughed when she realized that, eventually, he was going to wake up and find her spooned around him. She imagined he was going to be very cross about it, too.

Closing her eyes once more, Hermione wondered what time it was, suspecting it must be quite late from the faint glow of light around the black-out curtains covering the window across the room. The sun must be up, and given the amount of glow, and the fact that it was winter, she supposed that meant it must be nearing nine or ten o'clock in the morning. If she was being completely honest, she wouldn't even mind going back to sleep, even knowing that Snape might eventually wake and find her spooning him and be furious about it.

After all, it would certainly be better than facing the day when she would be expected to play nice and not lose her temper the Voldemort or the other Death Eaters, and likely also expected to tolerate the wails of pity and lamentation from Molly Weasley and Harry, and her other friends when she attended Christmas lunch. The more sleep she could get, the easier dealing with them and controlling her temper would surely be. It was already volatile, after the extra injection of Snape's magic against her own last night before she'd passed out, and Hermione knew she would need all the help she could get to keep from telling the Death Eaters to go fuck themselves if they began provoking her about this entire mess.

Burrowing her nose against the middle of his back, Hermione closed her eyes once more, sighing slowly and trying to will herself back to sleep. Snape twitched against her, as though even that small movement was enough to disturb his slumber. Hermione held perfectly still, forcing her limbs to go lax and heavy as though she still slept, and she smiled when, after several minutes Severus emitted the very softest and cutest sounding snore she'd ever heard.

She almost laughed at the idea of so fierce a wizard making such an adorable sound, but she didn't dare, lest she wake him. She never thought she'd see a day where she considered anything about Severus Snape adorable, but here it was.

With her arm slung over him and her knees tucked into the back of his, the wizard slept on and she found herself taking strange comfort in the fact that he was able to sleep in her presence at all. She'd rather thought that he would snarl and snap and be utterly painful as they attempted to navigate this new marriage mess.

Curling into him and snuggling just a little bit closer, Hermione closed her eyes once more and surrendered to the arms of sleep.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Severus Snape's eyes snapped open and he jerked slightly, wrenched from a most peculiar dream. Drawing a ragged breath and trying to get his bearings, he experienced the unsettling sense of discombobulation born of finding himself in a position he most certainly had never been in before. Curled in the middle of a large, decadently soft bed, Severus found himself being spooned by someone petite, vanilla scented, and extremely warm.

What was worse, the someone was clearly female, because he could feel the tell-tale softness of a pert pair of breasts pressing intimately against his back. Raising his eyebrows, and fighting the urge he had to jerk away from this delicious smelling goddess who deigned to show him this never-before-experienced affection, Severus tilted his head to better eye the slender arm draped over his ribs. The gleam of a gold band around her fourth finger made him cringe, and Severus eyed the faint ink stains still marring her delicate and dainty fingers with curiosity. He felt strangely content as he laid there, intimately aware of the slender knees tucked snugly behind his own, and able to count her heartbeats as they pulsed against his back.

As wakefulness rose within him and the vestiges of sleep began to recede, Severus's mind sharpened and the recollection of the previous night's events slammed into him hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. Unwillingly to wake the sleeping witch, despite the recollection that this ink-stained, vanilla scented, sweetly cuddling goddess was actually the smart-mouthed and frizzy haired wife he had obtained yesterday, Severus eased across the mattress with painstaking lethargy. The last thing he wanted was to awaken the girl and have her find him caught napping, and in her embrace, no less. With more care than he suspected he'd ever shown to another human being since he'd been fifteen years old, Severus slid her arm off him and withdrew from her embrace. Belatedly, as he sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed, Severus recalled that should she wake at that moment, she would spy the terrible scars littering his back.

He suspected she'd spotted them last night, though she'd concealed any reaction to them quite well. Fighting the urge to groan, having perhaps enjoyed the most restful slumber he could recall in more than a decade, Severus scrubbed his hand over his face in a vague attempt to clear the fog from his mind, and the sleep crust from the corners of his eyes. Trying to control the urge to lie back down and go right back to sleep beside the witch, Severus forced himself to his feet. He glanced back at the little witch in the bed when he noticed he was still naked, having fallen asleep after last night's debauchery.

Granger slept on, though she grizzled as he watched, seeming to sense that he was gone despite her continued slumber. She smoothed a hand over his side of the bed though she didn't open her eyes, searching for him and finding only the rapidly cooling groove where he'd lain. Severus shook his head before glancing down the length of his own body, finding that no matter the evening's activities, he wanted her all over again.

This was becoming a problem, he realized, shaking his head and strolling into the bathroom to wash his face and scrub the foul taste from his mouth. The tea Albus favored might be delicious, but if one forgot to brush their teeth before bed after consuming it, one tended to wake wondering if they'd been accosted by some savage during the night and force fed pure arsenic. Handling his business quickly, Severus twisted until he could see the reflection of his back in the mirror. He hadn't laid eyes on his scars in years, if he was being honest. They were old, now; faded and pale for the most part. A few of the more vicious ones were still red and likely would be until he was a hundred - if he lived that long.

They didn't bother him like they used to, he realized. Not that he wanted people looking at them, but they didn't make him cringe with anger at the idea of having people catch a glimpse of them. Narrowing his eyes and wondering if age, or Miss Granger were responsible, Severus left the bathroom once more. He stopped in his tracks when he glanced over at the bed, finding Miss Granger sprawled on her back in the middle, the blankets kicked off, and every inch of her petite, sexy body exposed to his gaze. His cock twitched in response and Severus almost groaned with how badly he wanted her right then.

Smirking to himself when he realized the witch was unlikely to object, and willing to try his luck, just the same, Severus crossed to the bed, lowering himself down on the end of it and smoothing his hands over her silky thighs. His mouth practically watered for a taste of her and he almost laughed as he pried her legs apart, intent on devouring her. She didn't wake as he trailed his lips in a line of hot kisses up the inside of her left thigh and Severus nipped her lightly, chuckling very softly when she emitted a little mewl of sound.

He breathed in the sweet and musky, vanilla flavored scent of her as he closed in on his prize and Severus licked his lips before leaning in and sampling her sweet nectar. Closing his eyes, he loathed himself just a little for enjoying this. He dipped his tongue inside her slowly, tormenting her flesh, learning her taste and her scent, committing the feel of her body under his tongue to memory. The part of him that was her school teacher reviled at such an act, but the rest of him simply reveled in her taste, licking and licking and licking at her sweet pussy.

She gasped as she woke, one of her hands tunneling into his loose black hair and Severus opened his eyes, meeting her gaze over the rim of her pelvic bone. She looked sleep mussed and adorable, a little frown marring her brow as she blinked at him, trying to get her bearings. He robbed her of coherent thought with a swirl of his tongue before suckling her clit into his mouth and making her arch. She moaned then, low and needy and filled with pleasure. Severus was surprised when she surrendered immediately to the caress, uttering not a single protest and simply mewling with the pleasure he was inflicting.

He took his time about devouring her, having always rather enjoyed performing cunnilingus. Granger certainly seemed only too willing to let him devour her and Severus smirked against her skin before delving his tongue inside her once more.

"Gods, Severus," he heard her whisper breathlessly, her body slowly coiling the longer her lapped at her sweet pussy.

Determined to break her with just his mouth, Severus took her clit between his teeth, twisting it first one way and the other. She whined, her body trembling, just begging for that final shove to pitch her into orgasm. Severus smirked, back off just enough to keep her from exploding, resuming the slow, deep lick that probed her slick channel.

"Oh, gods, you're such a bastard," she cursed him, lifting her head to glare at him when she realized what he was up to as he brought her to the precipice again and again, backing off before she could dissolve into orgasm.

Severus laughed at the insult as she tightened her hand in his hair, arching against him, desperately seeking more friction. Sliding his tongue inside her, once more, Severus swirled it as deep as he could reach, lapping up her juices with a wicked thrill and Granger emitted a soft sob at the penetration and the torment.

When she sobbed a second time as he suckled her clit, bringing her to the edge, once more, Severus knew that if he let her have it now, she would scream loud enough to wake the werewolf she'd tucked in last night. The idea tickled him more than it should, and Severus suckled harder, laughing when she uttered an ear-splitting scream of pleasure. She thrashed as the orgasm washed through her and Severus lapped at the sweet nectar that gushed forth.

Just as he was rising, a slow clap from the doorway caught Severus's ear and he narrowed his eyes, flinging the sheet over Miss Granger as he spun on the intruder. Lucius Malfoy leaned in the doorway looking impressed and amused as he slowly clapped for their performance.

"You're interrupting," Severus grumbled at the blond wizard, annoyed at the intrusion when he'd been about to fuck the witch senseless and alleviate the ache in his groin.

"Oh, and a Happy Christmas to you, too," Lucius sneered, and Severus rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, not at all willing to ask what he wanted, given the fact that Severus himself was naked, and Lucius was sporting an erection under his fine robes.

Before Lucius could answer, Granger spoke, her voice both breathless and husky, yet also annoyed and perhaps just the tiniest bit smug.

"Only, it's just that you're not actually welcome in our love nest, Mr Malfoy," Granger informed him. "And I confess that despite the recent orgasm and plans for having another good go at Severus this morning, those plans have been dashed with all the frigidity of a bucket of ice-water as a result of your presence. And while I know that, in the past, you two have been known to share a witch, please know that henceforth, your presence is  _not_ welcome when it comes to my husband's sex life. So, keep your sticky paws off, and get your pompous, drawling arse out of my sight before I hex you for spite."

Severus's lips twitched on the urge to smile at the rudeness of her demand, and Lucius blushed a hilarious shade of pink at her knowledge of his lesser known bedroom proclivities.

"Possessive of you, isn't she, Severus?" Lucius drawled, obviously disliking being spoken to in such a way and wrong-footed to have been ordered out and sneered at by a witch who he'd obviously expected to be too mortified to do more than squeak in horror at being caught.

"I am, as a matter of fact," Granger answered for him. "And I'll thank you to remember it before  _ever_  daring to interrupt us mid-fuck again."

With a flick of the wand she'd obviously fished from under the pillows, she slammed the door in Lucius's sneering face and Severus almost choked on a snort when the thud of the door against something solid followed by swearing could be heard.

"Do you think I broke his nose?" Granger asked, raising her eyebrows and looking entirely too hopeful.

"Are you always this feisty in the mornings?" Severus drawled, smirking at her in return.

"Only when arrogant twats dare to invade my bedroom and interrupt what was otherwise proving a most pleasurable morning," the girl replied impishly, grinning at him and relaxing back against the pillows.

"Love nest, Miss Granger?" Severus asked, raising one eyebrow and thoroughly enjoying the way her cheeks flushed crimson.

"I'll have you know that, Christmas or not, this is technically our honeymoon," she said imperiously.

"And you naturally loathe all interruptions," he said.

"Obviously."

"You realize that the rudeness to have invaded our bedroom suggests that he was sent to summon us, suggesting that we've other guests, downstairs?" Severus asked.

Granger sighed.

"You realize that I will  _not_  tolerate the rudeness of being burst in on inside my own home, unannounced, without actually reinforcing my displeasure at that fact, yes?" she retorted.

"For Lucius to have come in search of us here, going against years of social conditioning to invade another man's bedroom uninvited, suggests that the Dark Lord is here and growing impatient."

"Perhaps the Dark Lord should've thought to announce his intention to call on us today, rather than simply imposing. Honestly, how any of you can devotedly follow a man with such poor manners is beyond me. I mean, really. To invade at all is one thing. But to do so  _knowing_  that it's technically the honeymoon period following our marriage – the marriage  _he_  arranged, no less – shows an utterly deplorable lack of decorum."

Severus smirked, raising his eyebrows at the witch.

"Are you planning to tempt fate all day by continuing to insult the Dark Lord and my brethren, Miss Granger? There is only so much interference I can run on your behalf before questions will be asked and the pair of us will be punished."

"Oh, please," the girl actually had the audacity to roll her eyes. "I feel certain that Voldemort has  _no_  intention of killing me off just yet. Now, are you going to continue to stand there chastising me, or are you going to finish what you started before your irksome friend interrupted?"

Severus snorted at the girl's sass. Surely, she should be in a better mood after the magical depletion before she'd slept, and especially after the earth-shattering orgasm he'd give her since her waking.

"You mean to imply that your scream was  _not_  an indication that you were finished?" he drawled.

"I mean to repay the favor, if you'll just come over here," she said flirtatiously, and Severus  _knew_  he ought to tell her 'no'. He knew he ought to insist that they get out of bed and face the Dark Lord and his brethren, no matter the niggling urge he had to tell them all to fuck off when she looked at him like that.

"The Dark Lord himself will impose upon us if we take much longer," he warned, even as his feet carried him closer to the incorrigible little witch.

"Let him," she said, reaching for his cock eagerly with both hands as soon as he was within her grasp. "Serves him right for invading our home without invitation, and undoubtedly for some nefarious gain. As far as I'm concerned, if the man means to display such boorishness, he can await my pleasure and my whim."

"He  _will_  torture you for such disrespect, you know?" Severus warned, though it came out husky when the girl leaned over and took his cock into her mouth. Too preoccupied to answer, Granger swirled her tongue around the throbbing head of his cock before sinking down on him. She tipped doe eyes up to meet his gaze as she sucked him off and Severus realized he was in trouble. The little bitch was entirely too good at that sultry, hot look. Her mouth and her hands working in tandem, she took to him with vigor.

"Mmm," Severus hummed, sinking his hands into her wild curls and surrendering to the glorious caress. After so long spent tormenting her, combined with her sass and her skill, Severus found his grip on her tightening as the hot fizz raced up his spine.

"Fuck," he cursed softly, trying to be considerate and pull away. She clung to him tighter, hollowing her cheeks around him and sucking harder until he exploded. His hips jerked as color exploded behind his eyes and heat shot from the end of his cock to spread across her wicked tongue.

She swallowed every drop before pulling back and wiping her mouth, using her grip on him to pull him back down onto the bed with her. Severus huffed in a breath, eyeing her when she wore a Cheshire cat grin as she relaxed once more.

"Tupsy?" she called quietly, startling him.

The elf appeared with a soft pop.

"Good morning, Mistress!" The elf said excitedly. "Good morning, Master."

"Happy Christmas, Tupsy," Granger smiled. "Do you think you could bring the gift I wrapped for Severus and put under the tree last night?"

"Of course, Mistress," the elf vowed and disappeared.

"Gift?" Severus frowned at her, realizing he had nothing to give her. He wondered if he should feel guilty, or if he should sneer at her for daring to assume that this kind of thing might happen and that he might, under any other circumstance, have accepted a gift from her.

"It's Christmas, Snape," she reminded him, as though he were a simpleton and might have managed to forget that small fact. Severus narrowed his eyes on her, not at all appreciating her tone.

"You got me a gift?" he asked coolly, supposing it would be best to break it to her that he had no use for gifts and that he most certainly had not wasted a moment of his time shopping for her in any capacity. "I didn't get you anything."

She smiled indulgently, not looking the slightest bit disappointed, and Severus wondered if he ought to be relieved or insulted that she clearly hadn't been expecting him to buy her anything.

"You brewed me a potion," she reminded him softly, smiling as though she'd anticipated this turn of events when mentioning the notion of the two of them exchanging gifts. "And you woke me up so nicely this morning."

Severus furrowed his brow, baffled by the idea that she could be so easily content as to think a contraceptive potion to better hide their affair and a single act of cunnilingus might suffice as a gift. He was beginning to think the witch had a rather low opinion of his social skills, and wondering if it was some sort of trap. The elf reappeared before he could say anything else, handing Granger a large, brightly wrapped package.

"Thank you, Tupsy. Any chance of some breakfast in bed before facing our uninvited guests?"

"It's after lunch," Severus protested. "Eating now, when we will be expected to eat again later with our guests is foolish. And we should not keep the Dark Lord waiting."

Granger rolled her eyes. "Can I have pancakes, please Tupsy?"

The elf nodded eagerly and raised his eyebrows at Severus.

Sighing Severus waved his hand, deciding it would apparently serve him better to pick his battles with this obstinate creature he'd been saddled with. "I'll have the same," he said, shaking his head and ignoring that fact that he  _was_  actually hungry.

She smiled widely as the elf disappeared to fetch them some food, apparently pleased by his acquiescence.

"Happy Christmas, Severus," she said quietly, handing him the large gift despite his obvious reluctance to take it.

"Don't expect anything in return," he said uncomfortably.

She rolled her eyes, waiting for him to stop being a ponce and open it, if the look on her face was any indication. Fighting the urge to reprimand the witch for being so bloody contrary, and uncomfortably aware that every moment spent delaying was one more moment that the Dark Lord would likely punish them over if they continued to defy his wish to have them join him, Severus carefully peeled open the wrapping paper to reveal the treasure within.

It was a blanket.

A knitted one.

It was made from the softest wool he could recall touching in a long time, and woven with shades of black, white and grey, mixed through with browns and other earthy tones that gave it the overall look of the most peculiar fur he'd ever seen. Severus smoothed his hand carefully over the woven creation, noting the way she eyed him with only the faintest hint of trepidation.

"I thought, since you made something for me…" she began, looking worried when he didn't speak or thank her immediately.

"You… knitted this yourself?" he frowned at her.

She bit her lower lip before nodding quickly, her cheeks flushing crimson.

"I'm not very good, I know, but I gave it a good effort, and it'll keep you warm down the in the dungeons at Hogwarts even if every fireplace is doused in the dead of winter. I wasn't sure about the colours, since I didn't want to be cliché and knit you something in the Slytherin green colors, and straight black is certainly your color, but it's just so utterly monotone, what with your robes and your hair and that cold, black stare you tend to fix upon the students. And so, I mixed some others in, and I completely understand if you don't like it, and I won't be terribly offended if you put it away in some cupboard and never use it, but I wanted to have  _something_ to give you after that potion you made for me, and I hadn't shopped for you, obviously. Because I'm  _not_  naïve enough to imagine that you would ever willingly accept a gift from a student, especially one you've been fucking, and before last night that's really all there was to this entire mess and… I'm going to shut up now, because you're eying me like you can't decide if you want to hex my lips shut, or just kill me."

She looked down at her lap and Severus shook his head slowly from side to side, realizing from her babbling that she'd obviously knitted this last night. No wonder she'd depleted her magic. There was no viable way she'd have been able to weave so large an item without the use of magic in the few scant hours between when he'd given her the contraceptive, and when he'd returned from his meeting to fuck her into unconsciousness.

He also found himself unsure of what he should say. An expression of gratitude seemed obvious, but he'd never actually been all that good at saying thank you, because he'd not had all that much practice. Worse, he doubted a simply muttered "thanks" was going to alleviate the fact that she was practically vibrating as she sat there, wrapped in the sheet, her cheeks still flushed from their exertions, while she picked at her nails and didn't dare look at him, lest he look angry.

Severus frowned, spreading the blanket out as far as he could to better look at the colors and the wool. She hadn't actually incorporated a design or anything so garish as Molly Weasley was prone to doing, and Severus was grateful for that. He doubted he'd have been able to feign enthusiasm to crawl under a blanket with a cauldron design stitched onto it. It was well-made, he noticed. Soft, pliant, and probably exceedingly warm. Severus didn't think he'd ever actually owned a blanket that wasn't something his mother had tucked away in the cupboard since his childhood.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome," she answered just as softly, still not meeting his gaze.

With nothing to offer her in return, Severus glanced around the room, awkwardly seeking something else to say or to do. He frowned, not liking this awkwardness. He almost wished he had something to give her in return.

"I suppose we should face our guests," Granger said quietly, changing the subject.

"We haven't had breakfast," Severus frowned, suddenly less than enthusiastic to face his friends and the Dark Lord, no matter the awkwardness of being there with her.

Right at that moment the elf returned with a breakfast tray for each of them, presenting them the food with a happy smile. Miss Granger accepted hers politely, but ate sparingly. Severus suspected she knew that once she set foot outside the room, she would have to face the full snark of the Death Eater brethren on Christmas day. They were imposing upon her the day after a wedding they undoubtedly believed was very much a torturous fate for the witch, and would be gloating and snarky and rude all day long. He didn't doubt she would prefer to see the Order and her parents, and he wasn't so sure she would be able to do so.

"You need only stay until after lunch, if you like," he told her, frowning.

"You don't think the Dark Lord will object should I leave to see the Order?" she asked.

"I'm certain he  _expects_  you to. He will undoubtedly revel in torturing them with the knowledge of your association with the Death Eaters over these holidays. It would benefit you to go to them, even if you don't much want to, because it will show that they are  _not_  entirely against you, no matter his intentions."

"As though that won't anger him all the more?" Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

Severus shrugged his shoulders. "He will be angry, regardless."

"A more delightful house-guest I'm sure I've never suffered," Granger grumbled. "At least they won't be able to fault me on poor hospitality. I have gifts for anyone who arrives."

Severus blinked at her in surprise.

"You really mean to play the social games with them?" he asked.

"I enjoy proving that no matter their disparagements, there is  _nothing_  they can fault me on as a witch," she admitted. "I look forward to tormenting them, as they seek to torment me."

"They are vicious, Miss Granger," he warned, frowning. "Your association with me will afford you only so much leeway with these people before they attack you."

"I know," she nodded. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I need your protection, Professor. I've spent my life dealing with obnoxious prats who think they can look down on me or taunt me for things I can't change. You will find me well-equipped to do battle with them."

Severus eyed her, noting how resolute she seemed, obviously only too eager to verbally spar with his friends.

"Try  _not_ to sass them to the point of my intervention, Miss Granger," he said, resigning himself to a day spent on tenterhooks, just waiting to see who would snap first.

Granger's grin, when she flashed it, was beyond blood-thirsty and Severus had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that while his colleagues currently thought themselves the cats, and her, the mouse, they would soon find that she wasn't a mouse at all. She was a sly and cunning vixen with all the brains to outwit them and all the bravery to fling her superiority in their faces even as she tore their throats out with her wicked fangs.


	22. Chapter 22

Hermione Granger dressed nicely, yet conservatively to face the Death Eater horde that had undoubtedly overrun her living room. She didn't want to let them know she'd dressed fancier for them than she would to see her own friends; she refused to give them the satisfaction of thinking she'd gone to any trouble for them but she daren't dress in her usual attire, lest it open the floodgates on their mockery. No matter the inconvenience of their presence, she would have to play it cool and let them think she was entirely at home in their company.

"I should warn you," Snape began from behind her, dressed in his usual black robes, though he left off his Death Eater cloak and his teaching robes. "As is tradition at this time, our guests will all likely have arrived with gifts for the two of us and they will revel when you commit the social faux pas of not having anything in return."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at his apparent certainty that she must be an uneducated cretin.

"I assure you, Severus, I have a gift to present to every guest that calls upon us today." Severus frowned at her in surprise and Hermione smiled. "You didn't think that knitting one blanket would be enough to deplete my magic, did you?"

"You knitted them all something?" Snape frowned, looking like the idea bothered and amused him in equal measure.

Hermione nodded, wondering if he was bothered by the fact that his friends would all receive gifts similar to the one she'd given him. "Little things. Hats. Scarves. Gloves. Jumpers. Nothing as involved as a blanket like yours but I assure you, Snape, the Death Eaters all have gifts waiting for them under the tree in the living room."

He looked mildly concerned, though whether it was over the idea of her knitting so much, or because she'd actually done so for wretched Death Eaters, Hermione couldn't tell.

He didn't say anything else on the matter as he looked her up and down, noting the long dress she wore. It bore a fitted bodice and a full skirt that fell to the floor. It was a heavy cotton and silk blend, the fabric a deep shade of royal blue embroidered with decorative silver thread. Her cheeks warmed as he looked at her, his expression conveying neither disapproval or admirance. When she glanced in the mirror, she noted that her loose curls hung in wild corkscrews, gleaming because they were freshly washed, but impossibly springy as well. She knew there would be no taming it in any way that wouldn't backfire or draw scorn, and so Hermione simply draped it all over one shoulder, taking perverse enjoyment when she exposed the side of her neck that bore two love bites thanks to Snape's attentions.

He narrowed his eyes slightly on her in the mirror when he saw what she'd done but Hermione shot him a wicked little smile before she turned and walked right out of the room. He followed after her, she knew, though he made not a sound.

"Handle the gifts you are given with caution, Miss Granger. I expect many of them will be cursed or will bear some ill-wish toward you. Do not touch anything directly with your skin until I have had the chance to examine it thoroughly," he warned very softly before they could reach the sitting room where voices could be heard within.

"Yes, sir," she said smoothly, bracing for the onslaught of numerous Death Eaters.

She swept into the room with her wand tucked into her sleeve, noting the way the inhabitants had arranged themselves and smirking to see that the elves had fetched them all refreshments and some Christmas biscuits to tide them over as they awaited her and Severus.

"Well, finally," Voldemort said by way of greeting.

"Apologies, my Lord," Severus said, following her into the room. "We weren't expecting you."

"We were in the middle of something," Hermione corrected him. "And displeased at being interrupted. In future, if you seek to impose upon us, have the decency to warn us before you send an arrogant sod to interrupt me mid-orgasm, or you will find yourself cast out in the snow."

Lord Voldemort actually blinked at so brisk a reprimand, and so abrasive and indecent a suggestion. Hermione watched the way the rest of the brethren all fell utterly silent at her rudeness, but she just tossed her hair over her shoulder and lifted her chin defiantly, daring them to say something.

"You  _dare_  insult the Dark Lord so much as to suggest he is unwelcome in the home he gave you?" Bellatrix Lestrange hissed from the place where she stood by a window that overlooked the back garden.

"Oh, and you're here too, Bellatrix," Hermione deadpanned. "Well, I think it is safe to say that my Christmas cheer has now reached new heights. Imagine my utter delight to have  _you_  join us."

Bella sneered at her, curling her lip back from her stained teeth, but Hermione didn't bother acknowledging the ugly expression, suspecting it might be too far should she point out that woman's plaque build-up and cavities thanks to her years spent locked up and without access to decent dental hygiene products. The bitch would likely hex her for spite, and Hermione didn't think it would be very good form to begin the day with a duel.

"Severus, I had hoped that you might've drummed some sense into your wife when I left the two of you be last night," Lord Voldemort said, sounding more amused than angry. "You know how I feel about insolence."

Snape, Voldemort, and many of the other Death Eaters looked her over when Hermione tossed her curls over one shoulder to better reveal her love-bites. She raised her eyebrows at Severus in silent challenge, daring him to chastise her. His face remained expressionless. Hermione wondered how much trouble she might be in later, when they were alone, and he could properly address the mess of being married to her when he wasn't exhausted and didn't have enough of her magic clouding his judgement so much as to render him incapable of scolding her in a non-flirtatious manner.

"Unfortunately, my Lord, she is exceedingly stubborn and six years of my insistence upon the unattractiveness of insolence have not cured her of the habit," Snape drawled, turning his eyes back to the Dark Lord without giving Hermione even a hint of how she was supposed to react. It was strange to see him this way, she noted, almost as though he were caught somewhere between being the wicked Death Eater these people knew him to be, and the surly school-teacher she was so accustomed to. She supposed, given everyone else's lack of surprise, that this must be how he was whenever he was in their company but not required to be fully on his guard and in fear of attack as he would be were he attending a proper Death Eater meeting. This group was more intimate, she supposed, and perhaps closer with him than the wider collection of Death Eaters and followers that Voldemort usually surrounded himself with.

Hermione rolled her eyes at her own musing, resolving to stop spending so much time concerning herself with the inner workings of her new husband's mercurial and multifaceted personality. Peering around the room, she was surprised to find there were fewer Death Eaters present than she'd imagined there might be. She'd certainly overestimated the number of gifts she would require. The three Malfoys were present, and Hermione smirked cruelly when she noticed that Lucius seemed to be attempting to stem the flow of blood from his clearly broken nose. Narcissa had seated herself on the settee by the fire and looked like she was imagining that she could be somewhere else, far away from Voldemort and enjoying her Christmas with her family, rather than enduring this horror. Hermione felt a kinship with her in that wish, though she didn't acknowledge it.

She also chose not to acknowledge, when looking at Lucius and Narcissa, the fact that they had both recently shagged Snape. She doubted it would do her self-esteem any good. Narcissa, after all, was an impossibly beautiful witch with features so delicate and refined that Hermione was sure Veelas would be jealous. She was fine-boned, and she carried with her and air of poise and refinement that Hermione knew she would never be able to imitate, let alone outdo. Even seated and looking uncomfortable in their presence, she seemed graceful and Hermione had to remind herself of what Severus had told her of the woman liking dirty talk in bed just to keep from imagining her like so fantastical being stepped right off the pages of Hermione's childhood fairytales.

Lucius, even with his broken nose, was almost as pretty and Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing when she recalled what Snape had said about how Lucius was pretty enough with his long platinum hair that he practically counted as female. He was right, to an extent. There was something unerringly beautiful about the man, but as a young woman very in touch with her own sexuality, Hermione couldn't help noticing that for all his almost-feminine beauty, there was something alluringly masculine about him too. He was broad-shouldered and powerfully built, every bit the intimidating pureblood wizard and surely the perfect specimen to hold up in example of why years on inbreeding and purity was preferable to intermingling magical and muggle blood. He might look rather more like an elf, right off the pages of her fantasy novels – what with his flowing platinum hair and the pointed features that made him beautiful – but Hermione had the feeling that under it all there was as much power and darkness as she'd read all the most wicked warlocks and mages possessed.

When she looked to the left, Hermione spied the offspring that the two so utterly mesmerizing people had produced. Draco stood by the window across the room from where everyone else was gathered, his grey eyes – inherited from his mother – tracing over her as she eyed him. Ordinarily, she'd have sneered at the Slytherin boy, prepared with a barb on her tongue to refute whatever insult he might throw at her, but today he seemed unable to locate one. She wondered if that was a testament to her own daring to have sassed the Dark Lord, or if it was just that he seemed surprised by her entirely wizarding attire and by the fact that other than being even more sassy than usual, she was no worse off and no different to how she'd been before committing a gruesome murder and marrying her school-teacher.

She supposed, given that he'd had to witness her killing someone, and given that she doubted he'd killed anyone yet, himself, he was perhaps a little fearful and a little in awe of her. She wondered if he was as horrified as she was, deep down. She wondered if he felt guilty, bearing the mark of a Death Eater and having lured a classmate to an unfortunate fate. When he didn't speak, Hermione trailed her eyes to his right. She was surprised by the sight of Theodore Nott standing beside him. The other Slytherin boy from her year looked no more pleased to be there than Draco did, though both of them watched her with a morbid sort of curiosity, clearly waiting to see what she'd do next, and having expected her to be a sobbing, broken mess after last night. Arranged around the room were Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, whom Hermione recognized from their Wanted posters, having never been officially introduced to them. A man bearing a remarkable resemblance to Theo stood beside Rodolphus, and Hermione assumed this must be Thoros Nott, Theo's father.

Thorfinn Rowle, whom she recognized from her days as a first year when he'd been a seventh year, stood imposingly across the room and looked to already be swigging out of a whiskey flask. Alecto Carrow had seated herself beside Narcissa on the settee, and Hermione noticed that the woman bore the look of a witch who had been very well ravished overnight. There was a faint outline bruised upon her neck in the shape of Dolohov's hands and she positively glowed as though she was thrilled by her newfound status as a married woman.

Dolohov, by comparison, looked disgusted and furious, standing beside Rowle and similarly imbibing liquor despite the early hour of the day.

"Perhaps a firmer hand is required?" Voldemort drawled at Snape and Hermione rolled her eyes, realizing they were still discussing her supposed insolence. Crossing the room toward the enormous Christmas tree by the wall, she squatted beside the tree and began ferreting beneath it for the gifts she had placed there, intent on handing them out. As she searched, Hermione noticed that a number of additional gifts with her name and some with Snape's name had been placed under the branches, the gathered Death Eaters apparently having brought them along.

Glancing around at the gathered group, all of whom were waiting in silence for something, movement caught her eyes and Hermione spied Fenrir Greyback - once again in human form - padding barefoot into the room from the hall. A few others followed after him, all of them baring the rangy look and wild eyes of lycanthropes. When he strolled into the room, he briefly met her gaze and twitched an eyebrow at her. Hermione got the feeling when he swept a gaze over the group before looking back at her, that they were all waiting on her. It occurred to her that as Lady of the house, she was supposed to invite them all to the dining room, and begin lunch.

The idea titillated her as she rose, having fetched out the present she'd knitted for Voldemort, in addition to one she found with simple silver wrappings for the man that must be from Severus. She might be willing to give them all lip and to make them await her pleasure, but Hermione knew better than to offer the insult of gifting anyone else in the room before Voldemort.

Crossing the room confidently, Hermione approached the snake faced devil, fixing a polite smile on her face and doing her best to think about anything other than the bastard's desire to steal her first-born son.

"Lord Voldemort," she inclined her head when she stood before him. "Happy Christmas."

He seemed surprised by the two gifts, accepting them when she held them out to him.

"Prepared for our imposition despite your protests, Hermione?" He teased, seeming pleased by her audacity.

Hermione didn't answer, instead glancing at Severus who raised one eyebrow at her. She searched his face for some indication for who to gift next, but no answer was forthcoming. Supposing that it would be up to her, and rather enjoying the idea of upsetting everyone by purposely ignoring the pecking order among the Death Eaters, Hermione crossed back to the tree. She gathered an armload of gifts and began passing them out, beginning with Narcissa Malfoy, whose mouth twitched as Hermione proceeded to hand gifts to Alecto and Bellatrix too, before moving on to the men. Hermione didn't imagine that the women were often given the courtesy they deserved when in the presence of this group of wizards.

"I'm expected to accept a gift from a mudblood?" Bellatrix sneered as Hermione collected more gifts, having already handed the wretched bitch her gift. Bellatrix wore an expression like she'd been handed a flaming bag of dragon dung rather than a thoughtful, handcrafted present.

"I'm expected to accept a gift from a murderous bitch?" Hermione retorted, curling her lip and matching the other woman's tone perfectly, having spied a gift for her under the tree that read that it was from Bellatrix and Rodolphus.

Rodolphus Lestrange seemed to find Hermione's mimicry funny because he snorted and began to chortle as Hermione handed over his gifts in silence.

"Certainly, a brave little thing, isn't she Severus?" Voldemort asked in a low, dangerous sort of voice, and Hermione looked over to see that he'd opened the gift she knitted for him.

It was a matching hat and a scarf, knitted in a brilliant shade of crimson. She'd been careful to use some of her best wool, despite her reluctance to do so, not wanting to be accused of shoddy craftsmanship due to mediocre materials.

"I do hope you like them," Hermione said smoothly as she handed Rowle a gift, surprising him if his widened eyes and grunt were any indication. "I thought they would really bring out your eyes, Mr Riddle."

Hermione glanced over to see his eyes widened, both in shock at being addressed as such, and at her joke. Severus pressed his lips together, but Hermione could see the amusement glittering in his dark eyes. Everyone waited with baited breath as Voldemort examined the hat and scarf for a moment before turning his terrible red eyes upon her. Hermione wondered if he would kill her, watching him finger the Dark Mark pattern she'd woven into both items. Her heart was racing just a little bit as she exhausted her armload of gifts and found herself needing to gather more. Bellatrix's grin was bloodthirsty as she practically salivated to see the dark wizard unleash his displeasure upon her. Hermione found a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips, too, despite the danger. He wouldn't kill her. He needed her to spawn him a body that didn't have such wretched red eyes. She stared him down, meeting his gaze boldly when he glared at her for a long minute before he spoke.

"I warned you that my patience was not infinite, Hermione Snape," Voldemort said quietly, purposely using her new name as though it might upset or unsettle her. It did, but she wasn't about to let these blood-thirsty devils see it

"You did," Hermione inclined her head. "But it is not yet exhausted."

"No?" he asked. "You imagine yourself to be of some esteem in my eyes?"

Hermione gave him a mean little smile.

"I believe that if you'd planned on killing me, I'd already be dead. After all, what fun is killing me off when you can more effectively taunt the Order by keeping me alive? You're not going to kill me over a gift, or over a few caustic remarks. You won't kill me until I have depleted my usefulness to you, and we both know that as of yet, I have not done so."

A low "oooooh" would have felt less ominous than the deep silence that followed her remark. Hermione tried not to tremble with fear at the thought that, just maybe, Greyback was wrong, and Voldemort would kill her off just as soon as it suited him.

"I wasn't so sure I believed the hype of your cleverness, little mudblood," Voldemort said quietly, still eyeing her though he'd begun to chuckle very softly. "But I am beginning to see that no matter where that Hat put you, you have logic to match even my slyest and most cunning Death Eaters."

"We all make mistakes," Hermione offered charitably and the brethren as a collective seemed to reel at her daring.

Hermione ignored them, collecting more gifts from beneath the tree and handing them out in silence. When everyone was clutching a pair of gifts and looking both awkward and expectant, Hermione turned and led the way out of the room, pressing a gift into Greyback's large hands as she went. The werewolf grunted in surprise, though whether at the fact that he'd been given a gift at all, or because he'd only been given one and not two, Hermione wasn't sure.

She didn't speak to him, or to any of the others as she stalked from the room, intent on reaching the dining room despite having only just had breakfast. It was clear that everyone else was hungry, and that they would think less of her if she didn't lead them all to lunch like a properly attentive hostess.

"Tupsy?" Hermione called as she went, not bothering to look over her shoulder to see if anyone followed her, listening as the other occupants of her living room all began speaking softly to one another, apparently more at ease with her out of the room and refraining from provoking them. Personally, she couldn't wait for them all to open their gifts, as Voldemort had done, and she planned to make them do so while they awaited their meals to be served.

"Mistress?" Tupsy asked, appearing at her side.

"Is lunch ready to feed this lot?" she asked quietly of the elf.

"Ready and waiting, Mistress," Tupsy nodded. "Is you be wanting us to serve the full Christmas lunch, or to save the good stuff for dinner later?"

"Serve it all up for lunch and we'll let them pick away at the food all afternoon," Hermione said, knowing from experience at the Burrow that most people liked to have a good hearty lunch, and to take a walk in the snow before evening could fall. She could use it as an excuse to lure them all outside, thus forcing them to don their new Christmas gifts.

When she entered the room, Hermione surveyed the table with interest, noticing that the elves had done a fine job decorating the place. Overlooking the snowy back garden, the dining room was decked to the halls with all the trimmings of Christmas. Holly was strewn over every surface, and another tree winked with soft lights from the corner of the room. The bright baubles and the warm glow of the fire gave the room an inviting feel. Hermione briefly thought that it was a shame it would be filled in short order with unappealing people whom she'd prefer to be far away from.

Resigning herself to the sad fate of their company for the afternoon, and supposing that she might not be so very welcome at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place today than she would have been yesterday, Hermione scanned the table, annoyed that Voldemort would expect to be seated at the head of the table. She didn't imagine it would be in good sense to deny him the privilege, though she'd very much like to just because she was feeling spiteful.

"You've done a wonderful job, Tupsy," Hermione praised the house elf quietly. "Everything looks beautiful."

She spied a Yule log decorated and resting by the hearth, just waiting to be fed into the flames and Hermione realized that in all of the excitement last night, no one had remembered to light it. Flicking her wand as the Death Eaters all filed into the room, Hermione levitated to the log into the fireplace, watching as the decorations perished in the flames, giving off an inviting, warm scent that she'd come to associate with this time of year as a member of wizarding society.

Against her will, Hermione found herself relaxing just a little, despite the company, and she rather wished she were with the Weasleys and Harry, rather than surrounded by enemies, even if one of them was her husband. She could use a reassuring cuddle from Ron, or perhaps even Molly right then, and she wondered if there would be a chance later that evening to slip away and visit with them, or if she would be required to spend all of Christmas with such wretch people. Severus had told her could go and see them after lunch, but Hermione wondered if his Dark Lord wouldn't have other plans.

She wondered if she would be welcomed if she did manage to get away. She didn't think she'd be able to bear it if she went to see them all and the only one who was decent to her was Ron. Hermione wasn't a fool. She knew that Harry would still be furious with her, and that Molly and Arthur would probably be terribly disappointed in her. After all, they had been hoping she and Ron would get together for years. Molly had done more than hint at how wonderful it might one day be when she was truly their daughter-in-law, rather than just their son's friend. They were like her parents within the magical world, and she didn't imagine they would be too pleased that she'd been having sex, let alone that she'd been doing so with one of her professors. To make things worse, she'd landed herself in this mess, forced to marry the surly potions master, and they could hardly forgive her for it.

She didn't want to imagine what everyone might do should they discover Voldemort's plans for her. She could just imagine their horror. She felt it herself, and she didn't particularly want to face the thought that in short order he would undoubtedly command Snape to impregnate her. She hoped she would be able to play dumb on the subject for as long as possible. All night long, between when Greyback had told her the news and when Severus had returned, she had been pondering how she might survive the coming months as Snape's bride and Voldemort's incubator.

First, she needed to speak to Remus, to figure out if she actually shared a pack-bond with him, and if she did, she needed to plan her immediate disappearance because she didn't doubt that Greyback would surely murder her on Voldemort's order. He might've given her fair warning, and he might be pinning his hope to see Voldemort defeated upon her ability to do as Voldemort asked whilst ensuring Harry would be able to triumph over the dark wizard when the time came, but she knew that if she was bound to Remus's pack, Greyback would slaughter her and seek out the next best thing to rid himself of the megalomaniac's control.

Despite her somber mood at such dark thought, Hermione levitated the Yule Log into the flames, and she made a wish upon it, offering it up to whatever deities might be listening or might have some influence over her destiny. As she watched the flames begin to hungrily lick at the Yule log, Hermione found a soft Yuletide melody playing in her mind, and she began to hum it softly to herself, soothed by the scent of the burning log and the memories that arose, no matter the company she was in. She peered into the flames as she did so, almost absent-minded as thoughts and memories of happier times suffused her.

When someone else began humming softly in time with her, Hermione turned slowly, surprised when she spied Narcissa Malfoy had joined her before the hearth. The aristocratic blonde witch hummed softly along with Hermione's tune and she realized vaguely that she'd unwittingly begun humming the traditional tune for welcoming in the season – ordinarily sung at the burning of the log on Christmas Eve. They were a little late, but it seemed her memory and perhaps her magic was roused by the tradition and provided the song subconsciously. It seemed that no matter their opposing sides in the war, or their dislike for one another, the other witches in the room could not resist the allure of the tradition either because as she hummed, Narcissa hummed along with her, followed by Alecto Carrow – whom Hermione was surprised to learn had a delightful singing voice, as proven when she opened her mouth and sang the tune with no words.

Even Bellatrix, as wicked and as twisted and as positively loathsome as she was, joined in. As they hummed the tune, Hermione felt the magic weaving through the room and it occurred to her how easy it would be to find herself part of a coven when such things occurred. She'd read about in the books Snape had given her about the origins of magic and the practice of group wielding. Though she might not share a core-magic type with any of the other witches in the room, all four were drawn by the power of the ritual when it had begun, and Hermione knew that no matter their reluctance, the others would hum with her until the spell – the original purpose of the song as a means for delivering the incantation – was complete

Most ironically, the ritual was designed to incite a time for peace and kindness, and Hermione would have laughed were she not already caught up in the spell, herself. Eventually, Narcissa and Bellatrix both copied Alecto, opening their mouths and keening the incantation's tune, though whether any of them knew the actual words of the spell was unclear. Hermione felt the pull of the magic weaving its way through her, trying to lure her to the same thing and she fought it, not trusting her ability to sing the incantation, though she wasn't much better at humming.

Someone flicked their wand at the piano in the drawing room off the dining room just before she opened her mouth, and Hermione felt her magic swell when she let the song out. She wondered what her friends would say if they could see her weaving an incantation for happiness and peace with such Dark witches, but she couldn't cease now. The wizards in the room never made a sound, though when she peered over her shoulder, she found them all watching the four of them as they stood before the hearth fire while the Yule log began to burn. The bark crackled, and Hermione watched as little blue curls of magic began to rise through the air, swirling throughout the room and curling about each wizard as he stood, listening and watching.

When she met Snape's gaze, his brow was slightly furrowed, and he seemed a little bit surprised, but Hermione noticed the way one corner of his mouth pulled ever so slightly as though he might smile, and she realized the spell truly was working. Maybe, for the afternoon, it would prevent these terrible men from doing or saying terrible things and Hermione sighed, realizing that this might very well nip her own plans for unpleasantness in the bud, but she couldn't find it in her to mind. After all, it was Christmas. A time for giving and a time for happiness. She'd committed a murder last night, and gotten herself married to the cruelest of wizards. She could use a little happiness and peace in her life today.

Sighing softly, Hermione closed her eyes and simply let the music and the magic take her, uncaring if she sang off-key, or that she was surrounded by her enemies. She sang until the spell was done, and a warm, contented silence followed when, finally, the four witches fell silent. When she blinked her eyes open, everyone in the room was smiling softly, even Severus, and Hermione knew the magic was at work. Smiling a little wider, she turned away from the fireplace and toward the table, crossing to it and slotting herself into her seat.

"Let's eat before the food goes cold, shall we?" she asked pleasantly, breaking the silence and watching as everyone slowly made their way further into the room and seated themselves around the table.

She could tell she'd greatly upset the applecart with the spell when no one paid any mind to the pecking order they ordinarily followed – as evidenced when Voldemort ignored the seat at the head of the table and chose to sit beside Greyback. She almost laughed at the uncomfortable look on the werewolf's face, and she wondered if he was even allowed to sit at the table with them, usually. Surely such bigots would be horrible and insist he sit on the floor and eat his scraps from there like an unloved mutt.

She seated herself next to Severus, who sat beside Lucius. No one spoke as they all arranged themselves around the table, and Hermione was only slightly nervous when Alecto Carrow plopped herself down on Hermione's other side. Noticeably, Dolohov did  _not_  sit beside his new wife, choosing a seat further down the table between Thorfinn Rowle and Thoros Nott. Rabastan Lestrange sat beside Alecto, and Bellatrix sat between her brother in-law and her husband, being sure to place herself directly opposite her sister. Hermione watched Draco slide into the seat on his mother's far side, forcing Theo to have to sit beside one of the werewolves who'd arrived with Greyback.

She waited until everyone was seated before she smiled indulgently.

"Why don't you all open your gifts while we wait for the elves to serve us?" she suggested, grinning just a little bit.

Severus narrowed his eyes on her, but Hermione smiled innocently. It was clear he didn't trust her smile for even a second, but he didn't say anything.

"Expected to open the gift of a mudblood," Bellatrix muttered to her husband, sounding disgusted.

Rodolphus ignored her, peeling open the wrapping on the gift Hermione had given him and raising his eyebrows when he encountered the woolen garment within. Hermione watched him pull the jumper from the confines of the paper carefully. She hid her smile just a little, noticing that she'd given him one of the decent jumpers. It was a dark shade of green, just the one solid colour, and soft as Acromantula silk. He held it up in front of himself, and Hermione knew the charms she'd woven into it meant it would automatically adjust to fit him.

"Thanks," he grunted, slanting a glance at her.

"You're welcome," Hermione smiled innocently. "I weaved warming charms into the stitching, so it should keep you warm even in the deepest winter cold."

Rodolphus's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You knitted it yourself?" he asked.

Hermione inclined her head, noting the way everyone at the table looked at the jumper a little more closely, obviously surprised that she'd managed to knit anything, and that she dared to give such a thing as a gift.

"Oh," Rodolphus said, fingering the soft wool for a moment and looking slightly intrigued.

Hermione hid her smile when he nodded, folding it and putting it on his lap before opening his gift from Severus, who'd given him a book on transfiguration.

"What'd you get?" Rodolphus asked his wife nosily when Bellatrix opened the gift from Severus – a matching ornate hairbrush and hand-mirror engraved with the Ancient Rune for beauty. She showed him, not bothering to incline her head in thanks to Snape.

"From the girl," Rodolphus asked, nudging the other gift – which Bella looked very much like she did not want to open.

While she took her time about it, Narcissa set the example for elegance and good manners, opening the gift from Hermione carefully. Having never heard of any crime Narcissa had committed, beyond being a bystander, and beyond raising a pompous, bigoted twat for a son, Hermione had taken care to knit her something beautiful. The pure white shawl was decorated with tassels and as soft as a baby's behind. Narcissa's eyes widened with delight when she saw what she'd been given.

"Did you knit this too, Hermione?" Narcissa asked quietly, surprising Hermione when she used her given name, rather than her title.

"I did," Hermione nodded, smiling softly.

"You have some skill with those needles, it seems," Narcissa complimented, fingering the tight moss-stitch weave of the shawl and looking rather pleased with her gift.

"Thank you," Hermione inclined her head modestly.

Around the table, the others all began opening their gifts, clearly intrigued to see what they might've been given. Thorfinn Rowle raised his eyebrows in surprise when he opened his gift – a thick blue scarf that complimented the brilliant blue of his eyes.

"Thanks, Princess," he grunted politely, though the nick-name grated across her psyche – a relic from their younger days when he'd tormented her mercilessly for being so uptight.

Hermione smiled tightly. Around the table it went. Draco opened his gift – a pair of hunter-green mittens that would extend up his forearms far enough to cover his Dark Mark while he was in class, should he need to roll up his sleeves when brewing a potion, or working in Herbology. She'd noticed during their shared classes that he'd been ruining some of his sleeve because he refused to roll them up, lest his glamour-charm fail and his Dark Mark be spotted.

Theo had been given a knitted hat – in a similar shade of green to Draco's mittens – and Hermione almost laughed when he immediately put it on his head despite the poor manners of wearing head-dress at the dinner table. It brought out the green flecks in his eyes brilliantly and Hermione grinned when he inclined his head to her.

When she looked toward a hand placed on her arm, Hermione frowned to see that Alecto Carrow had opened her gift and seemed overwhelmed by it. Hermione glanced at the garment she'd given the other witch and frowned a little in surprise, not recalling having knitted that, and supposing that the witch would potentially be offended by it.

"What is it?" Alecto asked quietly, her brow furrowed as she fingered the simple, pink stitching.

"Erm," Hermione frowned for a moment, reaching to spread the gift out a little more. "Well, I hope it wasn't too forward of me,  _Mrs Dolohov_ , but it's a maternity dress. I thought, now that you're married, it might soon come in handy, you know?"

She spoke very softly as she said so and Hermione watched Carrow's eyes widen, both at her title and the implication.

"You…" Alecto lifted her eyes to meet Hermione's, and for just a moment, Hermione thought the other witch was actually rather beautiful.

Hermione braced, wondering if the witch would hex her but before she could even pull up a shield charm, Alecto lunged across the small space separating them and pulled Hermione into a tight hug. Vaguely, she was aware of the woman's ragged breathing and Hermione shuffled awkwardly in her chair, looking toward Snape for assistance. He appeared too surprised by Alecto's reaction to offer her any help and Hermione awkwardly patted Alecto on the back when the other woman began to sob.

Everyone turned to look at the two of them and Hermione spotted the way Rabastan fished the dress off Alecto's lap and held it up. It wasn't obviously a maternity dress. It was a simple, soft, A-cut style of dress with a generous cleavage line and plenty of space for a pregnant woman to grow into it. Soft enough to be worn when nursing a newborn, it was actually quite nice, and the thick cable-stitch designs gave it a pretty pattern. Pale pink, Hermione supposed it would look rather nice on the dark-haired witch.

"Is this…" Rabastan asked, fingering the fabric where, woven into the fabric of the shoulders, Hermione had incorporated the Dark Mark on one side, and the Dolohov family crest on the other.

He began to laugh when he realized what it was. Before Hermione could say something snarky, or torment Dolohov, who eyed the garment with abject horror, Alecto pulled back from hugging her, cupped her cheeks, and planted an affectionate kiss on Hermione's lip. Blinking stupidly as the other woman pulled away again, and feeling a fizz of the bonds around her wrist from the unbreakable vow she'd made when marrying Snape, Hermione made a quiet noise of surprised protest.

"Thank you," Alecto said sincerely and Hermione smiled awkwardly, unsure how to respond to having been kissed by the other woman.

"Erm... you're welcome. I hope it comes in handy. And soon." Hermione managed after clearing her throat.

When she looked at Snape, he raised one sardonic eyebrow at her and Hermione suspected they were all waiting for her to react to Alecto's affection unfavorably. Glancing down the table, Hermione caught the way Dolohov was eyeing her like he'd very much enjoy torturing her and Bellatrix was curling her lip back from her teeth, obviously disgusted with her fellow Death Eater for deigning to touch a mudblood.

Greyback caught her eye when Hermione swept her gaze over the length of the table and he tipped his head ever so slightly in the direction of Voldemort, indicating that she needed to be on her guard. She wasn't supposed to know the wretched devil was planning to steal her baby's body for his own. She wasn't supposed to know anything about the reproductive intentions of the brethren.

Hermione flicked her hair over one shoulder, frowning and looking at her plate for a moment.

"What is this?" Bellatrix snarled into the following chuckles from the Death Eaters while Alecto hummed, snatching the dress she'd been given back from Rabastan's hands and clutching it possessively.

Hermione looked over to see that Bellatrix had opened her gift and discovered the bright purple turtleneck jumper Hermione had knitted for her. The enormous white Dark Mark insignia on the front was entirely too prominent to be anything but the main focus and Hermione couldn't hold in her snort as Bellatrix eyed the garment like it was something she'd very much enjoy setting on fire.

"With luck, it will warm your cold, black heart," Rodolphus said to his wife, smirking wickedly, and Hermione pressed her lips together as the other Death Eaters all tried to hide their laughter, obviously knowing that Bella was volatile and wretched, and would punish them for daring to laugh at her, even if she did deserve it.

"Not possible," Rabastan Lestrange injected into the quiet and a little giggle escaped Hermione despite how hard she'd tried to hold it back.

"You think this is funny?" The evil bitch rounded on Hermione immediately, narrowing her eyes hatefully.

"Something bothering you, Madam Lestrange?" Hermione asked mildly. "Are you ashamed to bear the mark of your Dark Lord upon your clothing?"

"I proudly wear it on my flesh, you filthy mudblood," Bella snarled, pulling up her sleeve and revealing the terrible black tattoo marring her pale skin.

"Fascinating," Hermione deadpanned, not even flinching at the sight of it. "Purple is just your color, you know? And the white will really bring out the grey in those lifeless eyes of yours."

"Lifeless this, filth," Bellatrix snarled, flinging a hex at her.

Hermione blocked it, watching the spell rebound off her shield and collide with one of the werewolves Greyback had brought with him.

His chair toppled backward, and everyone went silent, waiting to see if he would live. The wolf sprang to his feel, blood spilling from his lips as he snarled ferociously, looking like he'd delightedly rip Bella's throat out. Hermione hoped he would.

"Must every family event end in duelling and death, Bella, darling?" Rodolphus asked, sounding bored.

"Let's eat, shall we?" Voldemort spoke up, his cold voice crackling across the gathered group, silencing them all instantly.

Bellatrix opened her mouth like she might argue, but a glare from the Dark Lord stilled her tongue.

Right at that moment the food appeared on the table, Tupsy apparently having been waiting for his cue to provide it. Hermione smiled, despite having just had breakfast with Snape in bed. Her stomach rumbled with hunger and anticipation as the delicious smell of the food hit her nose and she wasn't the only one. Exclamations of happiness and hunger filled the room and Hermione grinned, supposing this must mean that so far, she was surviving her first function as hostess alright. The gifts she'd given had been better received than she'd anticipated and despite the unnerving fact of having been kissed by another witch, Hermione was pleased that she was managing to survive.

She reached for the potatoes hungrily, her elbow bumping against Snape as she did so. He didn't react to the touch and Hermione found herself eyeing him as she dug into her meal, curious about how relaxed he seemed there with his fellow Death Eaters. He wasn't quite as surly as he usually was when she'd observed his eating in the Great Hall. He conversed quietly with Lucius about the state of the stock market and genuinely seemed comfortable, despite the presence of Voldemort and the other twisted gits in their company.

She supposed he hadn't been kidding about these people being his friends. He was comfortable while she was on her guard, anticipating a hex or a scathing remark from every direction. Hermione was aware of the fact that many of the Death Eaters were darting glances in her direction, obviously looking for weakness or discomfort, or perhaps even tears. She refused to give any of them an opening to attack her and Hermione found herself eating her lunch in relative silence as the chatter between the others grew. Draco and Theo were discussing the most recent Quidditch match that had taken place in the national leagues, while Dolohov, Rowle, and three Lestranges spoke of mission-related technicalities for their impending overthrow of the Ministry. It seemed they were intending to force all muggleborns to register their blood status and to prove they were magical and hadn't stolen their magic from a witch or wizard.

When she heard their plot, Hermione actually sniggered. Surely, it was a joke.

"Something funny, Madam Snape?" Voldemort drawled, slanting his red eyes in her direction despite the fact that he seemed to be tormenting Greyback - idly smoothing his hand over the wolf-pelt garment Greyback wore as though imagining himself petting his favorite dog.

"The rationalization and intention I'm overhearing for a reason to persecute muggleborns coming from that lot," she daintily waved her fork in the direction of Dolohov and the others.

"You think the theft of magic is  _funny_?" Bellatrix hissed, swivelling to glare at her.

"I think it's complete bollocks, and utterly ridiculous, to boot," Hermione said boldly before spearing a roast potato with her fork and nibbling on it.

"And what is so absurd about it?" Bellatrix demanded, raising her eyebrows archly.

"Well, other than the fact that the theft of magic is impossible," Hermione drawled. "There's a rather large hole in your story. You mean to claim that muggleborns stole their magic? Really? And just who did we steal it from?"

"Witches and wizards. Purebloods and halfbloods," Bellatrix answered, laughing scornfully as though it were a stupid question and glancing around at her fellow Death Eaters as though looking for back-up and someone to share an 'Am I right?' expression with.

"Which ones, specifically?" Hermione enquired, raising her eyebrows at the witch and keeping her face straight, staring the wretched bitch down. "Has there been a sudden spike in the number of squibs getting about the magical world? Or do you mean to tell me you personally know a witch or wizard who has recently become powerless and is no longer able to perform any magic?"

Bellatrix's left eye twitched just a little.

"Mudbloods stole their magic from those of us who were born with magic coursing through our veins. Purebloods have generations and generations of magic-wielder genetics combining in their blood," she said, earning a few muttered agreements.

"I'm sure they do," Hermione inclined her head, conceding that fact. "But that has nothing to do with muggleborns and their supposed theft of magic. Who might they steal it from? Their parents? They're all muggles. Until most muggleborns turn eleven, they have no idea the magical world even exists, despite usually being able to perform accidental or willful magic from a young age. Are you actually suggesting that newborn babies somehow  _steal_  magic from someone whilst still in the womb? Or perhaps whilst kicking their legs about in their cribs?"

"They obviously have to steal it from somewhere," Bellatrix said. "Otherwise how do you explain being born with the ability to wield magic when muggles can't?"

Hermione's brow furrowed when a few of the others actually nodded in agreement.

"Are you joking?" Hermione asked seriously, frowning at the other woman, some of her indignant rage lowering to a simmer when she realized that Bellatrix and a few of the others actually looked perplexed by her questions.

"What joke would there be to be made about this?" Bellatrix hissed, narrowing her eyes. "Mudbloods are thieves who steal magic. They're filthy and they're liars and they're dangerous."

Hermione blinked in surprise at the genuine conviction in her voice. She swiveled her eyes across the table to look at Snape, raising her eyebrows, perplexed.

"Is she suffering some kind of delusional as a result of all those years in Azkaban?" she asked her husband seriously.

Snape glanced in Bella's direction before quirking a sardonic eyebrow at Hermione, his face completely serious as he answered.

"No."

Hermione blinked, trying to comprehend how uneducated this woman was proving to be. Looking back at Bellatrix, Hermione frowned at the woman.

"You do understand, don't you, that muggleborns exist because in generations past, wizards have reproduced with muggles? In most cases, a witch or wizard shags a muggle, a child is born, and if that child isn't magical, they might marry another muggle, have kids, have those kids marry more muggles, and so on. The birth of muggleborn children usually occurs when two long bloodlines of muggles who have a witch or wizard somewhere in their family tree converge. Meaning that somewhere in my mother and my father's family trees, there are magic-folk. And they've all carried the recessive gene in the blood with each new generation, and when they had me the recessive gene they each carried ignited with enough flare that I was born able to do magic."

Bellatrix looked triumphant, rather than stunned, and Hermione's frown deepened.

"Then you confirm that you stole your magic from your ancestors!" she declared.

"If that's the case, then so did you," Hermione replied evenly. "Are you saying that just because there were more magical people in your family tree, you inherited the ability to perform magic without stealing it? But because I had fewer magical ancestors, I  _must_  have stolen it from them? It's genetic."

Bellatrix scowled.

"Mudbloods would say anything to cover up their lies and their theft of magic," she declared stupidly, and Hermione realized that these people were not only brainwashed idiots, they were truly zealots. Even when the facts were calmly and cohesively explained to them, they denied all truth to the information.

They reminded her of the religious people her parents had occasionally encountered during her youth who simply could not and would not see reason, even when they were violently proved wrong and that their beliefs were utter twaddle.

"Purebloods would brainwash their own children to fear and loathe mudbloods for no apparent reason, it seems," Hermione frowned, glancing at Snape again, wondering if they were all having her on.

"It's not brainwashing, it's fact," Bellatrix insisted.

"Fact is that I was born magical, just like you were," Hermione retorted. "Fact is that you are clearly too stupid, or too insane to see a valid point because you either fear the truth, or because you need the cushioning lies you tell yourself in order to commit the heinous acts you so enjoy. You revel in causing pain and suffering in those you deem to be lesser than yourself and you need a lie to tell yourself just so that you can sleep at night when that guilt starts gnawing at your psyche. If muggleborns  _stole_  magic, there would be a bunch of bamboozled wizards disappearing on a regular basis, either killed off or Obliviated. If muggleborns were actually able to reach inside someone and snatch the magic out of another person with as much ease as pinching someone's lunch money, there would be a whole lot more of us, and it would be an international disaster. If you're going to instigate a Ministry wide registry to persecute muggleborns, you need a better bloody story than "they stole magic" because you have no one to hold up as proof of those suddenly without the magic that's been 'stolen'."

"What do you call squibs, then?" Bellatrix sneered.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Tragedies," she replied evenly.

"Squibs are born to magical families with magical bloodlines, and they have no magic. Obviously muggleborns are stealing their magic," Bellatrix argued.

"When?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "In their cribs at the hospital? I've certainly never seen or heard of any muggle giving birth at St Mungo's. Do you imagine that by merely existence, muggleborns must be so powerful as to snatch the magic right out of a squib baby from across the other side of the city? Is that why you're all so scared of muggleborns?"

"We're not scared," Dolohov growled indignantly.

"You're running around telling people that muggleborns  _stole_  someone's magic. If that's what you actually think, then you must believe that  _I_  stole someone's magic. You tell me whose. Who did I accost, as a tiny toddler, to snatch the magic out of? I've been able to perform accidental magic since I was two, and willful magic since I was five. During those years, the only people I interacted with were both of my muggle parents, my grandparents, and a few passing strangers in the shops when my mother did the grocery shopping. When would I have been able to, as a mere toddler, attack someone so violently as to reach inside them and take a part of their genetic make-up for myself? I confess, if I genuinely believed toddlers could steal the most fundamental part of me that made me a part of the magical community, I'd be afraid."

"Mudbloods are filth," Bellatrix declared.

"Pureblood fanatics are too stupid to function," Hermione retorted coldly. "I see now how it came to be that someone could be dumb enough to torture two aurors into insanity as though imagining they'd get away with it. I'll bet that when you attacked the Longbottoms, it never even occurred to you that, as aurors, they would have protective charms in place over their dwelling to notify the MLE should they be attacked. No wonder you lot got caught. I'm honestly surprised that anyone thick enough to actually believe muggleborn children can  _steal magic_ , is actually able to breathe independently. Obviously, your brain is defective."

"Are you aware of how offensive you are?" Lucius Malfoy drawled when Bellatrix curled her lip in fury, looking like she might imitate Greyback's animalistic nature, leap the table, and rip Hermione's throat out with her teeth.

"Are  _you_?" Hermione challenged, swiveling to fix her gaze on the blond wizard. "I refuse to believe that anyone with any relative level of intelligence would associate with all of you, willingly, if you're all genuinely this misinformed and zealous about blood mania as to believe that theft of magic is possible. The theft of bodies might be another matter, but no one can  _steal_  someone else's magic. Share it with another magical being, yes, but stealing? Not possible."

"You're fighting a losing battle," Snape warned her in a low drawl.

"You're on her side?" Lucius asked,

Snape peered at him, raising one eyebrow.

" _You_  don't believe anyone can actually steal another person's magic," Snape pointed out. "You're smarter than that. You loathe mudbloods because their richly muggle genetic history increases the likelihood of the offspring they conceive generating squibs, which are, as she said, a tragedy. To be born with magical abilities amid a non-magical world is a miracle. To be born without magic in an entirely magical world, surrounded by a family of magic-users, is tragic. The only reason to disdain mudbloods is the risk they bring to future generations of offspring as being born without magic and suffering for it."

Hermione raised her eyebrows as his argument, never having looked at the blood mania debate in such a way.

"Technically speaking, most muggleborns are more magically gifted that some purebloods," she pointed out.

"Of course, they are," Snape rolled his eyes. "Something in their genetic make-up ignites to overcome centuries of non-magic ancestry. They  _have_  to be powerful."

"You believe mudbloods are more powerful than purebloods?" Draco spoke up, looking shocked and a little alarmed.

"The evidence is sitting in front of you," Snape sneered in retort, pointing at Hermione. "She's a mudblood, but she can out-duel and outsmart you and Theo with little trouble, despite the fact that the two of your have centuries of uninterrupted magical bloodlines leading to your conception. By the logic that being pureblood automatically means one is more magically gifted, then your cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, should be far superior at spellcasting over Granger, but they're not. You're not, either, I might add."

The whole table was silent at the points Snape made and Hermione realized that, as one of them, his argument carried more weight than hers did. She ought to be annoyed about it, but if even one of these fanatics could see sense, she'd be grateful.

Slowly, from his place beside an extremely uncomfortable looking Fenrir Greyback, Lord Voldemort began to chuckle that terrible chuckle like rattling bones at the gobsmacked, bamboozled, and increasingly furious expressions morphing the faces of his followers.

"And a very Happy Christmas, indeed," he laughed, his terrible red eyes dancing between Hermione and Severus greedily as though they were the perfect specimens for the wicked potion he intended to brew.


	23. Chapter 23

Severus Snape scowled as he watched his new wife sitting quietly and looking bored several hours later. She kept glancing out the window and it couldn't be more obvious that she wanted to be anywhere but there, with all of them. He couldn't say he blamed her, even if they were his friends who were currently growing steadily more intoxicated and more obnoxious as the afternoon wore on. He knew she'd probably be more comfortable at Grimmauld Place, or the Burrow.

Though he supposed, after last night's events, she might be a little uncomfortable and perhaps even somewhat unwelcome there, too.

As the afternoon wore on into evening, and as the brethren imbibed more and more holiday refreshments, Severus suspected the girl was growing steadily more uncomfortable. She'd been forced to face the fact that, despite being wretched people, they were, at their core, just people. People who taunted and teased each other. People who complained of aches and pains. People who used the lavatory – which seemed to have disconcerted her slightly when Alecto had inquired after directions to the loo some hours earlier. She'd been rather alarmed, he suspected, to realize just how human they all were – even the Dark Lord.

Part of Severus wanted to tell the witch to get out of there; to point her in the direction of the Floo network and have her arrive at Grimmauld Place alongside the rest of the Order and her real friends. Part of him wanted to be free of her entirely, no matter their matrimony. Another part – the part influenced by the fresh bands of his Vows to her that still glittered around his wrist – wanted to pull her into his lap and ravish her all over again, uncaring who amongst the Death Eaters saw.

There could be no doubt that she was bored, given that she'd been staring out the window for almost an hour and none of the others were talking to her. They were all too busy arguing and bickering amongst themselves, and since she'd made no effort to engage any of them since realizing how zealous and stupid many of them were during lunch, they were leaving her be.

For now.

Severus knew it wouldn't last.

He knew he would need to do something to remind them that, for all that she was a mudblood, and an Order member, and a condescending, insolent little bitch who'd picked fights and insulted every single one of them, she was  _his_. His wife. His to protect. His to keep from their clutches.  _His student_ , he thought darkly, finding himself contemplating the fact that in addition to being required to educate her in the classroom, she would all too soon become his diligent pupil in the ways of magic and the Dark Arts as she would never have been had she not foolishly healed him that night six weeks ago. As such, he needed to remind his associates and his friends that she was off limits and not to be trifled with unless they wanted to answer to him.

It would need to be delicate. He was hardly a man who frequently engaged in displays of affection, and while his agreement with her at lunch had reminded them, he could see the way Dolohov and Bellatrix were eyeing her, obviously itching with the urge to start in on her once more. Severus cast his eyes around the room, searching for a means to get her alone, or even just something he could do to remind his friends that the only one permitted to toy with his wife was him.

His eyes settled on her empty glass on the table in front of her. She'd warned Tupsy and the other elves to steer clear of them after lunch for the sake of protecting them and keeping them out of sight and out of mind should the brethren decide to enact some of their bloodthirsty tendencies. Perhaps he could fix her a fresh drink? That would be subtle enough for the brethren. Before he could move, the young witch suddenly stood up, straightening her skirt and walking out of the room.

Severus frowned, very aware of the way the entire brethren watched her leave.

"Was it something we said?" Narcissa asked, clearly startled by the lack of manners the girl had shown to have failed to politely excuse herself from their company before departing.

A few of them glanced at Severus in askance, obviously wondering if he would permit such disrespect of the Dark Lord and the rest of them – believing themselves to be in high enough esteem to be granted such liberties and her manners, even in  _her_  home.

"I don't pretend to know the mind of a witch," he sniffed in response to their unasked queries, arching an eyebrow at his friends for their pertinence, pleased when a few looked away, sufficiently chastised for their assumptions.

"Perhaps she is bored out of her skull because we're all ignoring her," Alecto piped up from across the room where she'd been tinkering about with the gift Severus had given her – a magical mind puzzle usually designed for children.

Severus narrowed his eyes on the witch. He'd known from many years spent fucking the woman that she was smarter than she tended to let on, and that she was actually far less cruel than she pretended to be for the sake of keeping up appearance and keeping herself from falling victim to her father and her brother's cruelty. He knew she was actually, passingly intelligent, and that she was intensely curious about this new, curly-haired, snide, brave witch who'd sauntered into their midst on the Dark Lord's arms with her chin held high. He knew she was curious about what might've drawn Severus to forget his oaths and his duties as an educator to have fucked Granger; and he knew Alecto wanted to know everything she could about the girl, knowing that for all his hatred, Dolohov was intensely curious and intrigued by her for her survival of his curse.

It stood to reason that she had been paying attention, but to have her speak up and point out such things so boldly made Severus think she was either imagining herself more secure within the ranks now that she was Dolohov's wife, or that she'd simply set aside the need for her pretenses in favor of showing just who she was and how clever she happened to be despite her previous loose nature.

"Arrogant little mudblood, isn't she?" Bellatrix sneered. "Imagining herself our equal."

"I think you'll find she surpasses you when it comes to cleverness, Bella," Rabastan drawled from the corner where he was in the midst of a drinking game with Rodolphus, Thorfinn, Antonin, Draco, and Theo.

"She certainly outstrips you in looks, anyway," Rowle could be heard muttering and Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, ever the vain and arrogant bitch, unused to such insults.

Severus smirked a little. Miss Granger was by no stretch of the imagination a stunning witch. In her youth, Bella far surpassed Miss Granger, in fact. But there was something to be said for the way the girl's confidence and bravery, and perhaps even her insolence, shone through in her stance, and in the raw power backing up her insults when she slung them. The curves hugged so sweetly in the dress she'd chosen to wear for the occasion certainly leant a sensual air to her appearance, and her wild curls were such that Severus's fingers were itching to bury in them once more. She was by no means hideous and it had to be said that Bella's time in Azkaban had greatly dimmed her once perfect beauty.

"Only pigs are drawn to the sight of mud, Rowle," Bellatrix retorted coldly.

Severus ignored the fact that the insult was clearly meant for him as much as for Rowle and any other man in the room who'd traced an appreciative gaze over Granger throughout the day. And he  _knew_  that every man there had done so, at least once.

"Only jealous bitches nip and snarl to drive out the imposter encroaching on their perceived territory," Thoros Nott drawled confidently, never one to fear Bella's rage or to guard his tongue when it could be used with such wicked effect, and Severus had to lift his goblet to his lips to hide his wicked smirk.

It had been some time since he'd attended any gathering not a formal Death Eater meeting with Thoros, and he'd forgotten the other wizard's penchant for cutting his fellow Death Eaters back down to size with a few shrewd sentences and an air of boredom that rivalled even Lucius at his greatest.

"I don't see her making eyes at my husband," Bellatrix sniffed.

"Not looking very hard then, are you, love?" Rodolphus said, always willing to needle the crazy bitch into a full blown psychotic rage. Severus knew the twisted bastard loved hearing the bitch shriek and snarl and fling hexes. He'd spent a good deal of his life pushing her to become the crazy bitch she was, taunting her, tormenting her, even cheating on her just to watch her lose her mind and commit murder.

Severus knew that he, himself, was a little unhinged and positively twisted, but nothing like Rodolphus. The bastard was cold and methodical in his 'control' of his wife, in such a way that Bella didn't even seem to realize how often she went out of her way to show that she loved him. And she did, Severus knew. In her own, insane way.

"I saw her tracing her eyes over you at lunch, Rod," Bass immediately piped up, ever the perfect wingman to drive Bella batty. "And that jumper she knitted you? Perfect measurements, no? Didn't even need magic to resize it. Oh, she's been looking, brother."

"Who hasn't?" Rodolphus smirked arrogantly. "Better watch it, Severus. Your little bride might prefer blonds."

"She'd go for me before you, mate," Thorfinn spoke up, smirking and running a hand through his golden mane.

"Pfft," Draco piped up, liquid courage loosening his tongue. "She might be a mudblood but she does have  _some_  taste, Rowle. I think we can all attest to that, given her willingness to snog me."

"Willingness, Draco?" Lucius drawled, raising one eyebrow.

Draco smirked. "Don't be surprised that she was eager for it, Father."

Severus realized in a heartbeat that not only were they taunting Bellatrix, they were trying to get a rise out of him. Before he could so much as roll his eyes, the voice of Hermione Granger cracked across the living room sharply.

"Eager is the perfect word to describe the exchange, Malfoy," she said calmly. "I don't think I've ever been so eager to escape anyone's clutches in all my life."

A giggle escaped Alecto at the girl's words and Draco shot a doubtful smirk in Granger's direction.

"No?" he asked. "Not even the Dark Lord's clutches, Granger? Comfortable here, are you?"

"The Dark Lord, thus far, has made no attempts to strangle me via efforts to lick my tonsils, Malfoy," Granger informed him primly.

That got a laugh out of Theo and Thorfinn, and Draco narrowed his eyes hatefully. Severus tensed when the witch put her hand on his shoulder. Twisting his head, he met her gaze over the back of the couch, frowning slightly when he noticed that she was dressed in a travelling cloak.

Ah, so she'd decided to vacate their presence after all. Severus didn't blame her, even if the urge to snatch hold of her and ravish her all over again came upon his sharply at her touch. She met his gaze, her eyes widening ever so slightly, and Severus recognized that she wanted him to invade her mind, rather than to admit out loud just where she might be off to. She leaned down slightly when he didn't immediately dive in and she gasped in surprise when, without thinking, Severus looped his arm backward, snagging across her stomach and flipping her over the back of the couch and into his lap.

He snogged her before he could think better of it, the urge to touch her and to lay claim to her body overwhelming at the thought of her vacating his presence. He knew it was the work of the bonds linking them, the magic requiring that they reaffirm their willingness to join as the vows began to settle into place between them.

She kissed him back hungrily, making herself at home on his lap, utterly unafraid in his presence even when he could feel the Darkness inside himself stirring. As was customary, the entire week leading up to the Dark Lord's birthday would likely be spent reveling in the most nefarious acts depravity. The ritual the witches had engaged with the Yule Log earlier that had kept them all civil was beginning to wear off, and Severus knew it was only a matter of time before they all went hunting. Granger would be far safer with her friends tonight than she would be with him.

Despite his well-known foible about snogging, none of the brethren made a sound of scorn, amusement, or immature teasing as he snogged her until she whimpered and began squirming on his lap. Only then did Severus pull away, opening his eyes to meet her gaze and diving into her mind.

He smirked just a little when he found her imagination full of the depraved things she wanted to do to him, having to dig past the wild fantasies to find that she meant to attempt an appearance at Grimmauld Place, hoping she would be welcomed, but fearing she might be met with more hostility from Potter, perhaps some disappointment or hostility from Molly, and the judgement of her friends and teachers. He didn't doubt that many among the Order would be a little less friendly to her from now on, given her association with him.

Severus's mouth twisted a little as he pushed an image into her mind that he knew she wasn't going to like. The need for her to stay with the Order for the rest of the holidays, no matter her urge to return to Selwyn Hall, and no matter her craving to return to his company. He pushed grisly images and recollections of last Christmas's festivities into her mind, warning her of what would be taking place in his presence over the coming days. She narrowed her eyes, silently attempting to argue that he could accompany her and avoid all that.

He chuckled darkly when he returned the assertion with the chilling, stirring urge he had to sink to his eyeballs in such wretchedness, causing her eyes to widen just a little before she bit her lip, her fingers toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck. She darted a glance at his lips, and then at the patch of flesh exposed above his collar. Severus recognized the look. Torn somewhere between wanting to shag him again, wanting to pull him away from such horror, and just maybe wanting to witness such depravity thanks to her own budding Darkness, she didn't know if she should stay or go.

Severus fought against his own vicious nature, projecting the image of Hogwarts into her mind, conveying that he would not be pleased if he saw her again before term resumed. She frowned, clearly not liking that idea. Severus remained stoic. It would be for the best that she was put out of the Dark Lord's reach once more. She flashed images of her trunk and her cat and Severus narrowed his eyes, returning with images of the brethren leaving later that evening, indicating that she should collect her belongings while they were gone and then that she should stay away.

She wanted to argue, Severus knew, but she merely narrowed her eyes instead when he levelled her his most feared expression as her teacher, refusing to budge on the issue.

"Leaving us so soon, Madame Snape?" the Dark Lord drawled when their mental battle grew strained and the silence had stretched long enough.

"As I'm certain was your intent, Mr Riddle," Granger answered quietly without taking her eyes off Severus's.

Severus narrowed his eyes on her slightly, finding one of his hands resting intimately on the curve of her arse while she perched in his lap, her legs and the full skirt of her dress draped over the armrest of the couch beside him.

"My intent is to have Severus lure you into Darkness that will utterly decimate Potter," the Dark Lord stated plainly, surprising Severus a little with the admission.

"You imagine he is not already horrified that I have married his least favourite teacher and a man he summarily hates?" Granger asked, turning in Severus's lap to face the Dark Lord bravely.

"You have already visited him since your wedding?" the Dark Lord asked, looking gleeful.

She nodded her head sharply.

"Yet you mean to return to them?" he said, frowning and Severus could tell the moment he realized that for all his intent to alienate Potter, he hadn't done a good enough job to prevent her return.

"I do indeed, and I will," Granger answered, sliding her fingers out of Severus's hair and rising to her feet once more.

"They have not cast you out for your discretions?" Voldemort asked.

"They are less prone to victim-shaming than you lot," Granger answered, lifting her chin and straightening her skirt as though she hadn't just been snogging Severus senseless in front of all of them.

"Potter has already forgiven you?" Riddle asked, and Granger shrugged her shoulders.

"Harry's opinions are often clouded," she said. "In time, I'm sure he will get over this new blow you have dealt him, just as he always does whenever you attempt to hurt him and end up summarily thwarted all over again."

Severus knew it was the wrong thing to say and he opened his mouth to intervene, but the girl hit her knees under the effects of the Cruciatus curse before he could speak, the Dark Lord's hatred glittering in his terrible red eyes. She opened her mouth and screamed, but before the sound could even echo in the halls, the floor opened under the Dark Lord's feet and swallowed him, ending her torture.

Granger slumped forward on her hands and knees, breathing hard and beginning to sob from the wretched pain like a hundred icy knives cleaving her flesh from bone, while Bella and a few of the others cackled wickedly. An explosion below their feet had Severus narrowing his eyes and he used his connection to the land and the house to return the Dark Lord to their presence before he could burn the house down in his rage.

Rising to his feet quickly, Severus scooped an arm around Granger's middle, slipping a pain potion into the pocket of her dress and lifting her to her feet.

"Off you go," he muttered in her ear, releasing her when she could stand, though she was gasping and obviously in shock at the sudden and vicious torture of the attack. "I will see you when term resumes."

Granger didn't even look back at him before she twisted awkwardly and Disapparated on the spot.

"My Lord," he bowed his head demurely, expecting he would be punished for her escape when the Dark Lord obviously had plans of further torturing her, his temper finally pushed too far by her insolent mouth.

The Dark Lord was seething, though he worked to control it.

"Your wife issss trying my patience, Ssseverussss," the Dark Lord hissed, always growing more serpentine in speech and mannerisms whenever he lost his temper.

"I understand, my Lord," Severus nodded. "Had I known it was your intent to include her in your plans to destroy Potter, I'd have warned against it, knowing she is wretchedly defiant."

It was the wrong thing to say, no matter the platitudes, and Severus was shocked when, rather than using the Cruciatus curse on him, the Dark Lord expressed his fury with Severus's statement by striking him angrily across the face.

It had been many years since he had been slapped by anyone with such brutality and Severus grunted, having braced for being cursed and left reeling and boiling in his own rage at such treatment that recalled the beatings his father had provided in his youth, before Severus had taken his life. He glared daggers at the Dark Lord, his wand arm twitching both with the urge to hex the bastard, and the vicious need to strike back.

"My Lord," he bit out through gritted teeth despite his own wishes, bowing his head and accepting the blow without retaliation.

The Dark Lord hissed angrily, storming away toward the window and back again, obviously trying to regain control of his temper. He must surely be frustrated to have resorted to the filthy and pathetic act of muggle violence as a means of expressing himself. Severus knew he abhorred such things, ordinarily, and supposed there must be a reason for such a punishment – mild in comparison to the agony of the Cruciatus. He narrowed his eyes, watching the Dark wizard who had so seduced him as an angry and bitter teenager just looking for someone –  _anyone_  – to show him a scrap of kindness or respect.

"Everyone, get out!" the Dark Lord snarled. "Severus; Fenrir; remain."

No one dared to argue with him and Severus darted a glance in the direction of the werewolf when he growled under his breath and huffed, nodding at the members of his pack that they should leave. Severus felt a prickle of unease across the back of his neck, looking back at the Dark Lord once more and wondering just want he had planned.


	24. Chapter 24

Hermione Granger stumbled as she landed on the step outside Grimmauld Place, fumbling the doorknob and tripping over her feet as she crossed the threshold. Her muscles were screaming, her legs refusing to hold her any longer and she fell to her knees in the foyer, the symphony of Mrs Black's portrait alerting the others to her loud and clumsy entrance.

"Hermione?" Ron called, spying her from the kitchen and leaping to his feet.

He ran into the room, his brow furrowed as he saw the tears of agony that slipped free of her eyes to dampen her cheeks.

"Merlin, Hermione. What's happened?" he asked, hunkering down next to her as the others hurried after him.

Hermione hung her head, fighting the urge to completely break down. This would be hard enough to face without her friends also terrified for her survival when she next had to face Severus.

"I mouthed off at Voldemort," she admitted, clenching her eyes closed and willing the shuddering and stinging in her tissue to cease. "Cruciatus curse."

"He cursed you?" Ron hissed, jerking the hand he'd been reaching toward her back, obviously realizing that touching her would only bring her more pain.

"Only for a few moments. The Ritual tying me to Severus and making me Lady of Selwyn Hall means that the land and the house will protect me if I'm attacked on the grounds. The house gobbled Riddle up the minute he turned his wand on me. Severus released him from the floor after helping me up, to keep him from destroying everything."

"Should've let the bastard rot," Ron muttered.

"He'd just have burned the house to the ground from inside it," Hermione shook her head. "I'm alright. It was only a few seconds. I just wasn't expecting it. I'd been mouthing off all day and he hadn't lost his temper or done anything to hurt me. I guess he finally snapped."

"Voldemort did this to you?" Harry asked, and Hermione nodded slowly, reaching a hand in Ron's direction.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked. "Mum? Maybe some tea? And a Pain Relief potion, if we have any?"

"I've got one," Hermione said, dipping her hand into her pocket and closing it around the phial of potion Snape had deposited there when he'd helped her to her feet. She wondered what it said about him as a person that he tended to carry pain potions on his person at all times.

"Where was Snape while you were being tortured?" Harry demanded, sounding both snide and angry. He obviously hadn't been listening when she'd said he'd been right there helping her up just moments after she'd hit her knees in front of the Death Eaters.

Hermione narrowed her eyes a little, having forgotten in her moments of agony and terror, that she'd put off returning to Headquarters sooner because she knew Harry was going to be in a strop over the state of her life.

"Helping me to my feet the minute the floor swallowed Voldemort," Hermione answered. "I was just about to leave and had been arguing with him about the usefulness of my returning here for the remainder of the holidays over my visiting here before returning to Selwyn Hall this evening, and Voldemort took issue that you might still allow me into your presence, tainted as I now am with Darkness. He disliked having it pointed out that despite his many attempts to isolate you, this too might very well fail."

Harry opened his mouth like he meant to argue, but before he uttered a sound, he snapped his jaw closed once more. As he did so, Hermione looked up at him critically, spying the dark bruising under both of his eyes and the slight swelling of his nose. Clearly Ron had been true to his word and had beaten some sense into the git. When she glanced at Ron, she noticed that he was also bearing a black-eye, in addition to a split lip and a slightly swollen jaw. Perhaps they'd really gotten into it. Hermione was glad she hadn't been there to see it, knowing she'd have ended up in the middle and probably have ended up accidentally struck for her trouble.

"In other words, he let his master torture you and did nothing?" Harry snarled. "Great. I bet your bloody  _thrilled_  you married the git now, aren't you?"

"Oh, bite me, Harry!" Hermione retorted hotly, wiping her face before letting Ron help her back to her feet. "I get it. You're angry. You feel betrayed. You think I'm a fool. Right now, I have more important things to worry about than your hurt feelings, alright?"

" _My hurt feelings_?" Harry scoffed. "I'm not a bloody child, Hermione!"

"Really?" she snapped. "You're certainly acting like one."

"You're being a bit unfair, Hermione," Ginny piped up from behind Harry where many of the other Weasleys were loitering, listening to the fight and looking concerned for her wellbeing. "None of us were expecting you to get  _married_  these holidays. Especially not to a git like Snape. I think we have a right to be angry with you over it."

"You think  _I_  expected to be married last night?" Hermione snarled. "I'm only  _seventeen_! I still have a year and a half of study to complete before I'll even be finished high-school! Do you really think anything that has happened these holidays has been about what  _I_  want? Do you think I  _wanted_  to be snatched by Antonin Dolohov – a man who very nearly murdered me last June – and be dragged off and left unconscious in a prison cell for three days? What? You think I just thought to myself before leaving Hogwarts for the holidays that it'd be really neat if I got to hang out with wanted murderers and psychopaths, just for some shits and giggles?"

"You've been shagging Snape, so obviously you don't mind the company of murderers and psychopaths too much," Harry retorted coldly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, crackles of purple magic jumping and sparkling through her curls as her fury spiked.

"I've been living with  _you_ , Harry Potter, since I was eleven. Is it any wonder that I'm predisposed to seeking out Darkness?" she hissed, and Harry wasn't the only one who recoiled at the venom in her tone.

"Hermione!" Molly said sharply, putting her hands on her hips and looking very much like she might attempt to lecture her.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded in a low voice, narrowing his eyes on her hatefully.

"Oh, I think you know," Hermione answered. "Ron? Could you help me upstairs? Remus? I need to speak with you. Alone."

Remus's eyebrows rose in surprise and he frowned.

"Are you accusing me of Dark magic, Hermione?" Harry demanded, even as Ron slung her arm over his shoulders and helped her toward the staircase.

"You harbor Darkness, Harry," Hermione replied cruelly. "It lives in your very skin, as plain as the scar on your face."

She didn't deign to look back even when Harry spluttered furiously.

"Why don't you have some tea, Harry?" Remus suggested soothingly. "Tensions are running high right now, and it will do everyone some good to calm down, I think."

Hermione let Ron help her up the stairs and all the way to the library, where he helped her over to the couch before dropping down next to her. He huffed out a breath, glancing at her sideways when Hermione winced, trying to rid the painful tingling from her limbs

"Well," he said after a tense beat of silence. "That went well."

"You beat him up," Hermione noted.

Ron nodded. "I told you I would. No one talks to you like that."

"Too bad you weren't with me today," Hermione sighed. "Almost everyone talked to me like that."

"Rough day, love?" Ron asked, interlocking his fingers with hers and giving her a sad smile.

Hermione nodded. "It was a long night. And I was greeted this morning by a room full of Death Eaters wanting to trade insults and make merry."

"Being Snape's wife is even less than it's cracked up to be then, eh?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood, though the joke fell a little flat.

"I really need to speak with Remus," Hermione said softly. "And… if I'll be welcome here long enough, I've been informed that for my own safety, it's best I spend the remainder of the holidays here."

"Snape's busy?" Ron asked, frowning.

"He's a Death Eater," Hermione sighed. "He is expected to include himself in their  _festivities_."

"And you're alright with that?" Ron asked, frowning at her. "Knowing he'll be out there killing people? Torturing them? Making them feel ten times the pain you're currently experiencing, just for the hell of it."

"Unfortunately, Ron, I have little choice  _but_  to accept it. Or, alternatively, to deny it takes place by removing myself to avoid seeing it and telling myself he's simply drinking with friends."

Ron sighed, nodding his head. She could tell he didn't like the situation, but that he knew better than to argue with her about it all. She was grateful for that. Hermione didn't think she could stand any more fighting or snide comments. Truthfully, she just wanted to crawl into bed and cuddle Crookshanks until the whole world melted away and she could think about something other than this wretched left turn her life had taken.

"You know, this is the exact opposite of what I suggested you do when you told me you were shagging Snape," Ron said quietly, changing the subject. "Remember I said to keep it to yourselves?"

Despite the wretchedness of the situation, Hermione found herself chuckling at his words.

"I didn't exactly get a lot of say in the matter, Ron," she reminded him tiredly, closing her eyes and leaning toward him, resting her head on his shoulder and drawing strength from his firm presence. "I'd planned on coming here for the holidays with you lot, maybe tormenting Lavender at every opportunity, and stealing kisses from you when she wasn't looking. The most exciting thing I'd planned for the holidays – other than snogging you – was supposed to be catching up on all the reading I'd been wanting to do."

Ron chuckled.

"And instead you got married to a Death Eater, committed a murder, and got tortured by the evilest wizard alive," Ron said. "You know, you've really got rotten luck."

Hermione laughed sadly.

"Do you think Harry will ever forgive me?" she asked.

Despite hoping he'd lie to her, Hermione knew it was for the best, and knew he still loved her when he was instead, brutally honest with her.

"No," he shook his head. "You know what he's like. Especially where Snape is concerned. To know you lied to him and were shagging the bastard was bad enough. To see you married to him – tied to someone so cruel and so twisted – isn't easy, Hermione. And with how much Harry hates him, and how embroiled in the Dark Arts Snape is, Harry will never really get past it, I don't think."

Hermione sighed sadly, closing her eyes and wondering if maybe it was for the best. After all, if Voldemort's plans unfolded as he intended, and he was able to body-snatch her very own son, Hermione doubted she'd be able to easily watch or forgive Harry when the time came to murder the evil man, even if he was inhabiting a body that would, potentially, be the fruit of her loins.

Logically, it would be about the terrible, splintered soul inhabiting that body, and the need for him to die to free them all from this terrible war. But Hermione suspected that if his plans came to pass, and Voldemort stole the body of her child for himself, it would still be  _her_  child's corporeal form he was wearing. He might have her smile, or her eyes, or even her hair. She doubted it would be an easy thing to witness her very best friend murdering that child, and she almost found herself hoping that she  _was_  a part of Remus's pack, and therefore unable to be the one to birth Voldemort the body he so desperately needed.

Even if it did mean Greyback would try to murder her.

Sighing heavily, Hermione squeezed Ron's hand gratefully, appreciating the comfort he offered, even if the truth was unpleasant to hear.

"You wanted to speak with me, Hermione?" Remus asked, padding into the room levitating three cups of tea at that moment. Hermione wondered if he'd waited for a lull in their conversation before making his appearance, or if the timing of his arrival was simply a coincidence.

"I did, yes," Hermione smiled bravely, doing her best to push away her bad mood.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" Remus said, eyeing her critically. "Why do you smell like Greyback?"

Hermione smiled tightly, knowing his nose would've picked up the fact that she'd been in the presence of several other werewolves that day and knowing from the tension in his shoulders that it concerned him.

"I've been keeping his company since I left here last night. He's been stationed at Selwyn Hall with a job to do."

"A job concerning you?" Ron asked worriedly.

Hermione nodded, sighing heavily again. She bit her lip, glancing at Ron and wondering if it would be safer to have him leave the room. He would likely explode if she revealed Voldemort's plan to use her as a brood mare before body snatching her progeny. The last thing she wanted to do was to let on to anyone that she knew. Not without time to mull it over in an environment where no one could invade her thoughts.

"Remus, am I linked to you via a Pack bond?" She asked delicately after taking a sip of tea to calm her nerves. She ignored the way her hands shook around her cup as she lifted it to her lips.

Remus's brow furrowed, and he seemed surprised by the randomness of the question.

"I... I don't know, Hermione," he admitted. "Moony certainly recognizes you as something... but not in the same capacity as he does with Harry. Why do you ask? Is this about Greyback?"

Hermione nodded.

"Greyback's been loitering about trying to figure out if I share a Pack bond with you. And if so, whether it transferred to Snape when we were married," she said carefully.

"Why?" Ron wanted to know, frowning fiercely.

Remus eyed Hermione seriously, darting a glance at the way Ron held her hand comfortingly and frowning a little. Hermione knew that Ron would never let it go, and thus far their friendship and their closeness had relied on the fact that they had no secrets from each other. Hermione wondered if she should tell him what Greyback had shared with her about Voldemort's plans.

She suspected that, if she wasn't linked to Remus, Voldemort would enact his plan and to do so he would have to inform Severus of what he wanted. After all, she was still a student and Snape was still a teacher, no matter their matrimony. Neither of then were ready for children, and it would go against their natures to begin trying for some, or even to leave such an occurrence as pregnancy to chance. Voldemort would have to tell Snape what he wanted, and Snape would either have to discuss it with her – undoubtedly knowing she would hardly be willing to comply with the heinous order at all, let alone when she was just barely seventeen.

He'd have to tell her, and explain the reasons that they would need to comply, or he'd have to lie to her and begin attempting to impregnate her without her knowledge. She didn't like either option, but Hermione suspected that being who he was, Snape would refrain from telling her. Which she was rather counting on, because if he didn't tell her the intent, even though she already knew, she would more effectively be able to drag out the length of time before such a conception would take place.

After all, the longer it took for her to fall pregnant and the longer she prolonged the time for Voldemort to gain a new body that wasn't linked to Harry's via a pack bond, the more time Harry would have to learn all he could, and the more time there would be for hunting down the Horcruxes and destroying them before Harry would, inevitably, have to face off against Voldemort.

As such, the less people who knew what she knew and what she might, eventually, have to do, the safer she would be.

"Erm… Ron, you know I love you and that I hate keeping secrets from you, but in this instance, it would be far safer for everyone involved if as few people as possible knew the reason I'm asking," Hermione said, squeezing his hand and smiling at him apologetically. "Do you think you could give Remus and I a moment?"

Ron's brow furrowed.

"You don't trust me?" he said.

"It's not you I don't trust, Ron," Hermione said soothingly. "It's just… the information I've been given is  _very_  delicate. And it's something that will sicken you and make your blood boil. It's also something that I don't want Severus to know that I know about and unfortunately, he's prone to using Legilimency on everyone around him. You would be incapable of refraining from thinking about this topic in his presence if I told you, and if he knows that I know, things will get very complicated."

Ron frowned. "You're just making me all the more curious."

"I know," she sighed. "But I can't tell you, love. Not this time."

"Married less than twenty-four hours and you're already keeping secrets from me," he muttered. "Fine. If it's that important, then fine. Don't see why Moony gets to know and I don't, but fine. Whatever. I'll go remind Harry how hard my fists are and yell at my sister for being a bitch to you."

Hermione sighed, squeezing his hand and watching him get to his feet before he stomped out of the room. She knew he wasn't happy, but the less people who knew about all this, the better.

Remus waited until Ron was gone before using his wand to close and ward the door to ensure they wouldn't be overheard.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" he asked quietly, looking more serious than she'd ever seen. "What have you learned, and why are you entrusting me with it and not Ron?"

"Am I linked to you?" Hermione asked. "Do you and I share a Pack Bond?"

"I can't tell," Remus admitted. "I'm not very in touch with my wolf, Hermione. I can sense that there is something about you that intrigues Moony. There has been from the minute I woke up in the compartment on the train with you in your third year."

"There must be a way you tell though, right?" she asked. "I really need to know, Remus. If you and I share a pack-bond, my life is forfeit."

Remus's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth like he wanted to ask her more questions, but when Hermione looked at him imploringly, he remained silent. Instead, he rose from the couch, crossing to stand before her and leaning in to sniff at her curiously.

"This might get a bit weird," he warned. "I don't let Moony out very often outside the full moon."

"I know," Hermione nodded. "That's fine. And I know I reek of Severus. Sorry about that. Greyback tried to figure out last night if I was bonded to your pack, but he couldn't get a read on my scent well enough with Severus's scent interwoven with mine. All he could sense was that there was something wolfy about me."

"I sense it too," Remus muttered. "I always have. And when you howled in your third year and drew me to you that night in the forest, I knew there was something distinctly lycanthropic in your genetic make-up. Let me just try…"

He circled around her slowly, and Hermione rose to her feet despite the weakness in her knees, letting him have better access to her person. Remus carefully trailed his nose over her hair before gathering it up and laying it over one of her shoulders. She held perfectly still when he pressed his nose to the back of her neck, breathing in her scent deeply.

"You really do reek of Severus, Hermione," he coughed. "And sex."

"Yes, well," Hermione sighed. "I married the man last night. What do you expect?"

"Why is it so important that you don't share a bond with me?" Remus asked, and Hermione held still as he nosed across her shoulders before bending his knees and trailing his nose down the length of her spine.

"Because thanks to the use of Harry's blood in his resurrection potion, Voldemort currently shares the same pack bond with you that Harry does, Remus," Hermione told him softly.

Remus froze in his sniffing before straightening.

"No," he whispered. "I'd… I'd know. Surely…"

Hermione smiled. "Greyback confirmed it, Remus," she said. "You, Harry, and Voldemort share a pack-bond. It's why Voldemort couldn't personally kill Pettigrew and why he kept him around so long despite the stupid rat being a waste of space. As part of his pack, and not his Alpha, he couldn't kill him."

Remus's eyes were wide, and Hermione was sure he might be sick from the way his face had turned such a deathly shade of pale.

"This can't be," he muttered.

"It is," Hermione said. "And, according to Greyback, Voldemort is seeking a means to gain himself a new vessel to overcome the pack-bond. He has failed in every attempt to kill Harry so far since his resurrection because of the pack-bond in his blood. He overcame the blood magic Lily performed by using it when he was reborn, and he won't need to reactivate it in order to circumvent the blood magic again now that it's broken. He just needs a way to overcome the pack bond. The simplest means for doing so is to steal himself a new body."

Remus suddenly snarled so ferociously that Hermione took a big step back from him and raised her wand defensively.

" _This_ is why he forced you and Snape to marry?" Remus asked in a low, growly voice she'd never heard him use before and Hermione blinked when she saw that the green of Remus's eyes had been replaced with a terrible, unsettling shade of burnished gold. In a heartbeat, she recognized that though he still inhabited the body of the man, it was the wolf that currently controlled Remus Lupin.

"Easy, Moony," Hermione murmured softly.

"That wretch is linked to me? To my pack?" Moony asked and Hermione nodded slowly.

"Yes," she whispered.

"And as such, he cannot kill Harry, which is good, but neither can Harry kill him. Which is very bad," the wolf growled, and Hermione nodded a second time, lowering her wand and loathing the fact that there was a strange part of her that wanted to get closer to him.

She wondered what she ought to make of the fact that she was not at all afraid of him when Moony was in the driver's seat. In fact, she positively itched with the urge to run her fingers through his hair and the urge to touch his teeth. He eyed her, growling softly as she came closer and Hermione reached for him carefully, smoothing a hand through Remus's sandy hair.

"You are not one of mine,  _gealai,"_  the wolf murmured, leaning into the caress.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Moony nodded. "You have never been part of my pack. Merely a strange little wolf who's not a wolf and not part of the pack, loitering about the members of my pack and recognizing me as your Alpha despite the lack of a bond."

"Why is that?" she asked, frowning at him.

"You have wolf blood," he murmured. "Not mine. Not part of my pack. Not Greyback's either. Someone else. Latent in your blood like your magic. It's an inherited pack-bond you carry, but you haven't got a wolf of your own. An ancestor of yours must have."

"So, I'm not part of your pack? And I haven't transferred the bond to Severus with our marriage?" she confirmed.

"No," Moony growled, and Hermione found herself reaching for his teeth without thinking, trailing her fingers over them inside his mouth in a way she felt certain Remus would take issue with when he wrestled control back from Moony.

"The broken one means to use your body to generate a new form for himself," Moony rasped, pulling his lips back from his teeth as his eyelids drooped, allowing her to smooth her fingers over his teeth, though she had no idea why she felt the need to do so.

"Yes," Hermione whispered. "If I am not linked to you, and cannot pass the bond back to Voldemort, he means to have Severus and I conceive a child, and plans to snatch it, squashing the soul out of it and taking the empty vessel for himself.

"If I make you part of my pack, he will fail," Moony said.

"If you make me part of your pack, you consign me to death in Greyback's jaws on Voldemort's orders and he will simply command Severus to marry someone else, or will use Alecto Carrow and Antonin Dolohov for the same progeny."

"Better that than him stealing your cub," Moony muttered, bearing his teeth to her all the more and clearly enjoying the sensation of having his teeth touched by her.

"True," Hermione said quietly. "But if he uses Dolohov, then we have no control over when he gets the new body. If I do it, and if Severus lives up to his usual secretiveness and doesn't tell me Voldemort's plans, then I can control the timing of the new body long enough to allow Harry to find and destroy all the Horcruxes."

"Harry  _is_  a Horcrux" Moony murmured. "It's why I did not recognize the broken one was Pack until you said so. Harry carries part of the broken one inside him."

"I know," Hermione whispered. "But the longer he has to destroy all the other parts, the better, right?"

Moony growled softly, turning his head and burrowing it against her hand, apparently wanting to be scratched behind the ear.

"The longer he remains in that snake form, the longer the war will wage," Moony said. "As his Alpha,  _I_  could kill him. Probably the part of the broken one that is inside Harry, too."

"Horcruxes inside other living things can only be killed when the hosting vessel dies," Hermione said.

"Not in one who is Pack," Moony said, opening his eyes. "I am in control of all of my Pack. I can reach inside them and manipulate them at will. Or I could, if the human would stop poisoning me and fighting me at every turn."

"But your link is to Harry," Hermione said.

"And through his blood, to the broken one," Moony nodded. "And the Darkness in Harry is borne of the broken one. I should be able to crush it out of him."

"Without hurting Harry?"

Moony frowned. "No. It would hurt the pup. But it would not kill him. It would not call for you sacrificing a pup to the broken one's plans, either."

"Perhaps," Hermione said. "But the prophecy exists for a reason. Harry is the only one who can destroy Voldemort, no matter that you are his alpha. That is about souls, not blood. And you know the pack bond resides in the blood."

"I could do it," Moony insisted.

"Remus won't let you," Hermione told him.

"He might. If you explain to him, little  _gealai_ ," Moony murmured.

Hermione sighed. She doubted that. Remus would be horrified enough the moment he regained control from Moony as it was.

"Thank you for helping me," she said politely to the wolf.

He blinked at her slowly, merely regarding her for a long moment as though knowing more troubles tormented her tired mind and waiting for her to share them. He nuzzled against her hand in his hair when she didn't say anything else. It was nice, she found, standing there affectionately touching him without the awkwardness of having Remus trying to downplay his lycanthropy and keep his distance.

"You want the human back?" Moony offered eventually and Hermione sighed.

"He'll be upset if you keep the reins too long," she said softly, and he nodded before surprising her when he stepped closer to her and ducked his head, licking her directly between the eyes and up the middle of her forehead.

The strangest sense of peace suffused her at the odd caress and Hermione sighed, closing her eyes.

"Hermione?" Remus asked quietly a moment later, his breath hitching as Moony relinquished control back to him.

"Hi, Remus," Hermione said, smiling gently.

He frowned at her and Hermione realised she was still touching one of his canine teeth and had the other hand tangled in his hair.

"Are you alright?" He asked worriedly, obviously fearful of what the wolf had said or done while he'd been in the driver's seat.

"I'm fine," she nodded. "Sorry. You're probably wondering why I've got my fingers in your mouth."

She pulled her hand away and smiled just a little when he made a small sound of distress as though he wasn't sure he wanted her to stop touching him.

"Did Moony hurt you?" He asked in a low voice.

Hermione shook her head, wondering if Remus would mind terribly is she were to cuddle into him and sleep. Whatever Moony had done to her with the affectionate lick to the forehead had made her realise that she felt bone weary with tiredness. Despite sleeping almost until lunchtime beside Severus, they'd been up until almost dawn, and the weariness she felt thanks to the magical depletion she'd suffered made her think that she'd very much like to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

Alone.

Where she didn't have to share the covers, or worry about kicking or grizzling in her sleep. And didn't have to be disturbed by anyone else coming or going from her presence. She wondered if there was a spare room in Grimmauld Place she could have, rather than having to share with Ginny, as she'd done in the past. The conversation downstairs made her think Ginny was going to be hostile about the events that had taken place these holidays, and Hermione was in no mood to tolerate her friend being a bitch over something Hermione had had little say in.

She might be able to empathize that they were angry, and even disgusted that she had been shagging Snape behind their backs and that she'd been carrying on something with him well before this mess with Voldemort – even if it  _had_  only been those two evenings after his Death Eater meeting six weeks ago and that groping incident in his office before Harry's interruption. But she didn't want to fight. She didn't want to argue with them. She didn't want to try and explain to them that she had no bloody clue how her life had gone to hell in a handbasket so swiftly, and she didn't at all want to try rationalizing to Harry or Ginny or Mrs Weasley just what had drawn her to Snape in the first place.

She just wanted to be left alone to lick her wounds in private.

"Well," she sighed, meeting Remus's gaze ruefully. "Happy Christmas, Remus. I've a gift for you, but I'm afraid I left it at Selwyn Hall when I made my quick getaway."

Remus frowned at her.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" he asked quietly, not stepping back from her despite the fact that she was standing well within his personal space.

It didn't feel awkward to do so, nor was there any underlying tension or nervousness brewing between them. She truly felt comfortable with him. As comfortable as she did with her mother and father; more so, even, than she felt with Molly or Arthur. Remus felt like family, though they shared no Pack Bond.

"I'm fine, Remus," Hermione tried to smile, though she feared it looked more like a grimace. "Tired. Exhausted, if I'm being honest. I depleted my magic last night, what with the bonding ceremony and the ritual to bind me to Selwyn Hall and the surrounding grounds, in addition to binding myself to Snape, and all the magic transference that goes on whenever I shag him. On top of that, I expended too much to get a  _lot_  of knitting done last night. I could sleep for a week, I'm sure."

"You're not… afraid?" he asked.

"Of Moony?" Hermione asked, smiling gently.

Remus nodded hesitantly.

Hermione shook her head, offering him a warm smile and reaching to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"No, I'm not afraid of Moony. He likes me, I think. He calls me  _gealai_ , you know? And he licked me."

She reached for her forehead where the wolf had swiped his tongue so affectionately.

"Like a pup," Remus murmured, eyeing her curiously. "What did you learn about the Pack Bond?"

"We don't share one," Hermione shrugged. "Moony thinks there are lycans in my ancestry, but obviously none of them are recent, and we aren't linked."

"He thinks you've got wolf-blood?" Remus asked, his eyes widening before he frowned. "That would certainly explain the interest he pays you, and the fact that you drew him with that howl in your third year…"

Hermione nodded.

"In any case, it's fortunate that we don't. I'm afraid my life would be forfeit if we did."

"Greyback?" Remus asked.

"Yes, but only on Riddle's orders," Hermione sighed.

"You're not going to tell me any more than that, are you?" Remus asked when she didn't say anything else.

Hermione shook her head.

"It's in your best interests, and mine, if no one knows about this. Severus will, undoubtedly, learn of it in time, and I expect that he will try to keep it from me while manipulating me to what Voldemort wants. The longer I can put off the inevitable, the better."

"You're being very cryptic, Hermione," Remus frowned at her. "If you think you're in danger, from Gryeback, or from Severus, we can keep you away from both of them."

Hermione laughed. She didn't mean to, but it slipped out, nonetheless.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I don't doubt your intentions, Remus. But I do doubt, very much, that there is anywhere you could put me that Severus would not find – Greyback too, for that matter. It's fine. Greyback means me no harm. He intends to use me to the Dark Lord's intent only so far as to rid the world of Voldemort. He's tiring of being leashed and only set loose to kill on Voldemort's demands."

"Greyback is dangerous, Hermione," Remus frowned. "Don't trust him."

"I don't," Hermione held up her hands placatingly. "I believe what he's told me. Voldemort has a use for me. If he didn't, I'd already be dead."

"He means to use you to break the pack bond to Harry, ensuring they can kill one another," Remus said knowingly, and Hermione wondered whether he'd been more aware of what went on when Moony was driving, or if he was simply clever enough to have deduced as much based on what she'd told him.

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Do you understand what that means, Hermione?" Remus frowned at her. "He would…"

"Snatch the newborn baby from my arms and force the soul from it's body before inhabiting as his own, aging it rapidly and using its power to attempt murder of one of my best friends," Hermione finished for him heavily. "Believe me, Remus. I know."

"Hermione…" Remus frowned, shaking his head, his brow furrowed. "You can't…"

"I  _will_  go through with it," she said. "I will put off falling pregnant for as long as I can – even if it means lying to Severus and self-inducing miscarriages should I actually get pregnant before Harry is ready to take Voldemort down. Until Harry is ready, I will wait."

"Severus is a Potions Master, Hermione," Remus shook his head. "He will tell you he's giving you contraceptives and instead be feeding you fertility potions. You  _will_  fall pregnant if you continue shagging him."

Hermione pursed her lips, nodding seriously. "I know," she nodded. "And though I imagine you've all been speculating otherwise, I wasn't actually shagging him before all this. Or… well, I was… but it was only two nights. Both of them after he'd returned from Death Eater meetings six weeks ago. Since then, aside from one incident, he's kept his distance. At least until last night. But we'll be back at Hogwarts soon. He can hardly be seen seducing me, and I'm particularly good at avoiding being seen, or caught, when need be. If I'm not alone with him, he can't seduce me. And if he can't seduce me, he can't shag me and impregnate me."

"Severus can be very persuasive and very manipulative, Hermione. I wouldn't put it past him to give you detention to get you alone," Remus told her, frowning fiercely. "Especially if he  _needs_  to impregnate you on Voldemort's orders. Not to mention, the two of you are married. Eventually the bond between you will be undeniable and you'll shag."

Hermione sighed.

"I know. I know it won't be easy, and I know he'll be angry, and mean, and vindictive. He might be tortured too, if we take too long… I don't know how much you know of Dumbledore's plans, and of what still needs to be done to rid the world of Voldemort's stain before Harry faces him, Remus, but there is much to do. Harry isn't ready for the show-down yet, and even if he were, and  _if_  he managed to successfully 'kill' Voldemort in such a battle, there are more fragments of his soul out there, and he would linger on. The sacrifice of my child would be for nothing."

"Hermione, this is madness," Remus growled. "You cannot, in good conscience, be standing there discussing a willingness to sacrifice your firstborn for the cause."

"Why not?" Hermione asked. "If I don't do it – if I  _can't_  do it – he will simply claim another. He wedded Dolohov to Alecto Carrow last night, too. As a back-up plan, according to Greyback. If I had shared a pack bond with you, I would be killed, and Alecto would instead carry the progeny Voldemort means to steal. Besides, there are others in this war who've sacrificed more. Harry's parents sacrificed their lives. Sirius sacrificed his life. Frank and Alice Longbottom sacrificed their sanity. How many others have suffered? How many more will suffer the longer we delay? How many is too many before the death of a child – even if it happens to be  _my_  child – becomes viable if it means an end to this madness? After all, I expect that Voldemort plans to jump into the body almost immediately after the birth. I probably won't even be able to hold the child before he snatches it away, crushes the life I've sparked, and wears the meat-suit left behind. I would not be the first woman to endure the pain and horror of a stillborn child, Remus. I would not be the first mother to suffer the death of a son."

Her voice wavered as she said so, and her heart was clenching inside her chest. But ever since Greyback had told her Voldemort's plan, she'd begun mentally preparing.

"You don't understand, Hermione," Remus whispered, shaking his head. "To carry a child within you for nine months, only to have it stolen away even if it is born healthy, would be bad enough. But what of what it will do to you and Severus? Like it or not, the two of you are married, and from the way you interacted last night, I think it's safe to say that the two of you have a real spark. But even the brightest of sparks can be snuffed out, Hermione, and nothing snuffs them out faster than the death of a child."

Hermione shook her head.

"I won't have a choice, Remus," Hermione whispered. "I can lead them on and drag this out for as long as need be – even if it does mean I have to conceive and carry the child for a few months before forcing a miscarriage – giving them hope and snatching it away if Harry needs more time. I can do it. It will be hard. And it will be messy. But if it means ending this war and decimating that fucking bastard, I will do it, Remus. Even if it  _does_ cost me whatever might otherwise have grown between Severus and I."

Remus shook his head sadly, not bothering to argue anymore. She wondered if it was because he could see that she was resolved, or if it was simply that he couldn't bear to think or talk about it all for another moment. Instead, he surprised her by imitating Moony, leaning forward and licking her directly between the eyes and up her forehead. Hermione sighed at the peace that suffused her when he did so, and he let her lean on him, wilting into his embrace as tiredness overcame her. She couldn't be sure, but when he stooped down and scooped her into his arms before carrying her out of the library and up to one of the vacant bedrooms right at the top of the house, Hermione would swear the werewolf whispered to her that he would do whatever he had to if it meant her sacrifice wouldn't be for nothing.


	25. Chapter 25

Severus Snape watched the brethren leave with no small amount of trepidation, though he was sure it didn't show on his face. Narcissa shot him a worried glance and squeezed his arm gently as she got to her feet and filed toward the fireplace, clearly intent on Flooing back to Malfoy Manor, rather than participating in whatever debauchery he and the rest of the brethren would be expected to engage in just as soon as the Dark Lord was finished with him.

Lucius gave him a look that might've been one of worry or pity, but he didn't touch him or say anything. He didn't need to. Severus knew the look. Despite his aloof nature, Lucius was worried that the Dark Lord might do something terrible to Severus. Greyback waited in silence alongside him as everyone else left, his eyes fixed on the Dark Lord. Severus couldn't help noticing that the werewolf looked almost resigned, as though he knew what was coming and wasn't looking forward to it.

That made him nervous.

The werewolf, ordinarily, was a bloodthirsty wretch that set Severus's teeth on edge. To see him looking grim about whatever the Dark Lord had planned was  _not_  a good sign.

When the three of them were alone in the house but for the elves down in the kitchens, the Dark Lord turned to Greyback seriously.

"Fenrir?" he asked, clearly expecting the werewolf to know what he wanted without having to state it.

"I haven't been able to get a reading on her, my Lord," Fenrir growled out, looking like he hated admitting it. "I cornered her last night and sniffed her a few times this morning. The scent of wolf in her blood is faint, even at the best of times. When she reeks of Snape and sex and all the magic from the rituals, I cannot determine if she shares a Pack bond with Lupin or not."

"Severus?" the Dark Lord asked, looking displeased by Greyback's answer.

"My Lord?" he asked.

"Are you aware whether or not your wife shares a bond with Lupin?" he asked. "Has she passed it to you through your binding ceremony?"

"I wasn't aware you believed she might share a pack bond with anyone, my Lord," Severus frowned, feigning ignorance.

"Greyback," he commanded, nodding at Severus and the wolf curled his lip, growling in fury as the Dark Lord turned and paced away once.

Severus caught the way the wolf's claws lengthened and his fangs were bared as he lifted his hands and imitated choking the life out of the Dark Lord while he wasn't looking. Growling again, he stalked across the small space separating the two of them and Severus eyed the werewolf dangerously, his wand in his hand and the curses to slaughter werewolves lingering upon his lips, just waiting to be uttered.

He wasn't expecting it when the wolf invaded his personal space, one clawed hand coming up and gripping his jaw, tilting his head to one side. Severus dug his wand into the werewolf's ribs, anticipating a bite, and he frowned when instead, Greyback sniffed him intensely.

" _What_  are you doing?" Severus hissed, attempting to shove the wolf back.

"Hold still, Snape," Fenrir growled in his face before sniffing him some more, trailing his nose over Severus's neck and across his shoulder as he walked in a circle around him, going so far as to lift the dark hair hanging about his shoulders and burying his nose against the nape of Severus's neck.

"Severus, don't fuss," the Dark Lord commanded quietly from across the room, clearly sensing Severus's intention to hex the werewolf. "It is vitally important that I learn whether you and the mudblood are bonded to Lupin."

"I can't get a good reading, my Lord," Fenrir shook his head. "He smells too strongly of her after fucking her all night."

"What use are you, Fenrir?" the Dark Lord snarled, flicking a hex at the werewolf in annoyance when he spun on them quickly.

Fenrir dodged it and Severus's eyes widened a little when the wolf bared his fangs at him in fury for the attack. No one ever dared to  _dodge_  when the Dark Lord handed out a punishment. Had the wolf lost his already demented mind?

"I'm the reason you even  _know_  you're linked to Lupin, fuckface," Fenrir sneered at the Dark Lord and Severus wondered if the wolf truly had gone off the deep end. Only a lunatic – or Miss Granger – would dare speak to the Dark Lord in such an impolite manner!

"Get out of my sight!" the Dark Lord snarled, flinging another hex at Greyback – who dodged a second time, baring his fangs and shifting his weight like he might launch himself at the Dark Lord and rip his throat out.

The Dark Lord threw more and more curses at the werewolf until, eventually, Greyback was forced from the room by means of his own dodging of the attacks, and Severus both heard and felt the anger he unleashed on one of the paintings in the next room before he Disapparated with a sharp crack.

When he was gone, Severus turned his attention to the Dark Lord, noting that he was breathing heavily and looking rather like the rapid-fire spells had tired him out. Severus frowned. It was no secret that the Dark Lord was getting old. After all, the rapidly approaching New Year would bring about the Dark Lord's seventy-first birthday.

Not  _old_  by wizard standards, but certainly pushing beyond his prime. The fractured and broken state of his soul must surely be affecting him, and Severus knew that though he rarely showed it, the effects of the potion he'd ingested to regain corporeal form, especially the inclusion of Nagini's blood, had left him suffering pain whenever he exerted himself too much.

"My Lord?" Severus asked, fighting to keep his tone neutral and polite when the man had slapped him across the face mere minutes earlier.

"Severus," the Dark Lord sighed, crossing the room to stand before him.

He looked… not frail, but certainly like he was beginning to weaken. Severus frowned at him.

"You are unwell," Severus said softly, frowning at the man who, once, had been the only person in the world to believe that Severus had more use than brewing potions and offering snarky comments.

It was hard for him, in moments like this, not to recall that there had once been a time when this man had been the father Severus wished he'd had. It was hard to forget that this man had once been his friend. And they  _had_  been friends, before the Dark Lord rose so far in power. Back when he was still gaining a following and seducing the brethren and the wizarding community to his way of seeing things, Severus had counted Tom Riddle amongst his dearest friends.

Mentor. Friend. Father.

All of these titles had once applied to Voldemort in Severus's mind. He had looked up to him, adored him, wanted to be him. To see him showing weakness for perhaps the first time in living memory, rattled Severus more than any slap to the cheek could've done.

"Yes," the Dark Lord allowed with a nod of this head and a heavy sigh.

"Do you require more restorative potions, My Lord?" Severus asked, frowning fiercely.

"Probably," the Dark Lord admitted. "But they are only temporary solutions, Severus. You know this. This form is failing me, and wretch though he is, Greyback has brought something unfortunate to my attention."

He waved a hand at Severus, indicating that they should both sit to continue the discussion. Severus did as he was bid, dropping into the nearest armchair and regarding the Dark Lord across the room.

"Foolishly, it escaped my notice that the inclusion of Potter's blood in my revival potion would undo the effects of Lily Potter's blood magic but would doom me to be incapable of killing Potter jus the same."

"He shares a pack bond with Lupin," Severus realized immediately, based on the questions the Dark Lord had been asking him and the inclusion of Greyback in the reasoning for their discussion and the Dark Lord's certainty. "And as such, you cannot kill him as you are not his alpha."

The Dark Lord nodded, sighing heavily.

"Sometimes I wonder if the prophecy was wrong, you know?" Voldemort shared. "It seems that no matter what I do to snuff out Potter's existence, something always stands in my way. Lily's blood magic, this wretched Pack Bond, our wands sharing a core from the same creature, sheer dumb luck. He always manages to avoid death, even when he has nowhere to run and despite being so much less skilled and less powerful a wizard."

"He has many people helping him, my Lord," Severus pointed out, frowning and wondering what all of this had to do with him.

To his surprise, the Dark Lord nodded his head, sighing heavily again and putting his face in his hands for a long moment as though reaching for strength. Severus suspected he was suffering far worse than anyone believed, and he was surprised that the Dark Lord would keep such information to himself for so long only to reveal it to him now.

"What can I do, my Lord?" Severus asked in a low voice, eyeing him and loathing the tingle of worry creeping through his belly and tightening his gut.

He was supposed to despise this wretched, evil bastard, blast it all! He wasn't supposed to care that he was suffering except to use that fact to his own gain.

"Potions will no longer restore me adequately, Severus," the Dark Lord said. "You know this."

Severus nodded slowly when the Dark Lord lifted his face to look at him from across the room.

"The only way things can proceed – both in my goal of slaughtering Potter, and my intention of living forever – is if I vacate this form and claim another," the Dark Lord said quietly. "You  _know_  the ritual of which I speak, Severus."

A chill raced down Severus's spine. Yes, he knew it. The process of cultivating and stealing the body of a newborn babe right out of the womb, laying claim to it as one's own. His brow furrowed, knowing that in such instances, the risk was high. Frequently the attempts of the ritual ended when the soul of the newborn refused to be snuffed out. In an instance such as that of the Dark Lord – whose soul was already tattered and shredded thanks to his Horcrux creation – it could very well be fatal.

Before he could dwell on the risks, however, it occurred to Severus just where the Dark Lord was planning to get the body of a newborn baby and Severus thought he might be sick.

"Not so very long ago, you said you would offer me some of your nose to make up for my lack of one, Severus," the Dark Lord murmured. "And while I do not seek to disfigure you, I  _would_  appreciate the sacrifice of a little of your flesh and blood to my cause."

"This is why you had me marry the mudblood," Severus said dully, working hard to keep the horror and fury from his voice.

"Yes," the Dark Lord nodded.

"This is why you had the Selwyn family slaughtered, in order to grant me Lordship. You knew it would increase my power, provide an excuse to have me marry the girl, and ensure that any progeny I sire will carry the added strength of that lordship magic."

"Yes," the Dark Lord said again, his terrible red eyes fixed on Severus and for the first time in Severus's memory the man looked anything but cunning, conniving, or evil.

No, the Dark Lord didn't look poised to force him to agree to this plan he looked… guilty. He looked remorseful. He even looked apologetic, as though he was loath to ask such a thing of his follower – his friend.

Severus stared at him, utterly at a loss for words. There was little he  _could_ say.

"You mean to…" Severus gulped leaning forward, trying to make sense of the request.

"Yes," the Dark Lord said a third time, not letting him get all the words out, as though knowing it was utterly horrible. "If you do not share a pack-bond with Lupin, and thus, Potter, I would ask that you contribute to my cause in this manner, Severus. I know it is a lot to ask, especially of one whom I already ask so much."

"My Lord," Severus said, shaking his head slowly from side to side in his horror. "I don't… why  _me_ , my Lord? Why  _her?_ "

"You already know the answer to that, Severus," the Dark Lord said quietly. "We discussed it over lunch. You are the most powerful wizard I know, outside of myself and - though I am loath to say so - Dumbledore. You are intensely powerful in your own right. Combined with the power of the lordship ritual you will sire progeny the likes of which will put the world to shame. As for the girl… you said it yourself over lunch. She is powerful. She might very well be a mudblood, but that only makes her  _more_  powerful. She is sharp-witted, clever, and possesses more magic in her little finger than some of my followers do in their entire bodies."

"My Lord, surely you don't believe that any children the mudblood and I conceived would be… attractive?" Severus said, still shaking his head, utterly horrified, subconsciously denying the request. "I have no delusions about my appearance, my Lord. My nose is too hooked and too long and too large. My complexion and my hair are oily at the best of times. My teeth are crooked. I am too thin to be considered strong, no matter my actual strength. And the girl is no better. She has wild hair and though she had them magically shrunken, she was born with enormous front teeth like a beaver. Any child we conceived would have terrible teeth, my nose, and wildly curly, yet oily hair. Probably, they would be on the short side, given her diminutive stature, and they would be weedy, as I was until I grew into my power. As I still am, if we're being frank."

"Severus, look at me," the Dark Lord snorted, seeming amused by his argument. "I am bald all over. I have slits in the place of nostrils, and no nose to speak of. My eyes are red, Severus. No amount of frizzy, oily hair, crooked teeth, or an unfortunate nose could look worse than this. Aesthetics can be fixed, anyway. The raw power that your progeny would carry in it's blood would be worth it."

"What of the risks, my Lord?" Severus frowned. "This ritual was outlawed for it's barbarism, and also because the risk was unbelievable. You might very well fail to overcome the spirit of such a child."

"I cannot go on in this form," the Dark Lord sighed.

"And if I  _do_  share a link to Lupin and Potter?" Severus asked, frowning.

The Dark Lord sighed. "Then I will have to resort to the same measures with Antonin and Alecto as the contributors, as your blood would carry the taint forevermore."

Severus frowned fiercely.

"This is why you wed them, despite Dolohov's horror," he said.

Lord Voldemort nodded. "I am tired, Severus," he murmured. "I grow wearier with each passing day. I find I need more sleep than I used to, and I find myself suffering the agony of the blood-sickness caused by the use of Nagini's genetics in my potion. Some days I need three Pain Potions just to get out of bed. Great feats of magic grow harder. Even flinging those curses at Greyback was taxing. If I do not find a solution soon, this body will fail and I will be left a wraith, as I was after my demise at Godric's Hollow and before I possessed Quirrell. I cannot stand the thought of another possession, Severus. The presence of another soul was so irksome."

"My Lord…." Severus whispered, trying desperately to think of some way to say no, some way to get out of this. "My Lord, the girl is barely seventeen…"

The Dark Lord nodded. "Yes. As such she is very much in her prime, or about to enter it. She will birth more viable offspring than Alecto, whose age will hinder her ability to carry the child as easily."

"You misunderstand, my Lord," Severus murmured. "Granger is my student, my Lord. She is only in her sixth year. She will never consent to this. Even if I were to keep her from knowing your intent, she would never consent to falling pregnant at seventeen. Not a full year before even completing her education. And I am her teacher."

"You are her husband."

"Yes, but that cannot be revealed, my Lord. Not if you wish to install me as Headmaster when Dumbledore dies. The Governors would sack me if I impregnated a student before Albus is removed and I have taken up his stead."

"Dumbledore knows you have married her," the Dark Lord frowned.

"And he is unhappy about it," Severus said. "He means to remove the girl from Potter's confidence to protect the Order's movements and to keep you from reaching the boy through her. He will put up with this, as a means of saving her life when she was captured, but he will not tolerate any public acknowledgement of my involvement with the girl. He would sack me before then."

"He believes you his most valued spy," Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"He loathes me as much as the rest of them, my Lord. He  _only_  tolerates my presence because of my usefulness to the Order. If that is tested with the Governors and the wizarding world slinging accusations about the safety of the students – which they  _will_  do if they think he is permitting his teachers to molest the students – he will sack me. He will have no choice. He would keep me as a spy, if he had to, but he would remove me from my post. Which would prevent me from taking over as Headmaster."

"He will be dead before year's end," Voldemort waved his hand. "I can wait a few more months before you impregnate the girl, Severus."

"My Lord, even if I managed to stave them off long enough to take over as Headmaster, do you truthfully believe that a witch like Hermione Granger would  _allow_  herself to fall pregnant and remain so at such a young age? She values her education more than her moral compass. She would terminate the pregnancy herself if she fell pregnant. She likely wouldn't even  _tell_  me she was pregnant. She would simply handle the problem. She is more than capable of brewing potions to induce a miscarriage."

"You could give her something to ensure she would fail," the Dark Lord pointed out.

"And risk her life, my Lord. Which would end your ability to use her as an incubator," Severus argued. "I wish you had shared this with me before forcing me to marry her, my Lord. Not only because it is  _my_  life you have railroaded, and  _my_  child you wish to snuff out for the sake of wearing his meat-suit, but also because I'd have warned against including Granger in this plan. She is… beyond stubborn, my Lord. She is logical. Ruthless. Cold. Defiant. She might be powerful, and she might be smart, but she will  _never_  consent to such a plan."

"I wasn't intending for you to  _ask_  her, Severus," the Dark Lord said sharply, apparently not above losing his temper even in the face of such a horrid request. "She is still just a mudblood. Stubborn or not, she is your wife and she obviously enjoys fucking you. She'd even imagined marrying you  _before_  last night's ceremony. I shouldn't think you will have much trouble luring her back into bed with you for the sake of conceiving the child, my friend."

"You misunderstand, my Lord," Severus said tightly. "I expect it will be easy enough to lure her into bed with me, but just last night I gave her a contraception potion that will be effective for the next three months, at least."

" _Why_?" the Dark Lord hissed, his eyes flashing in annoyance.

"Because you didn't tell me you wanted me to fuck a kid into her!" Severus snarled in retort. "Had I known that was your plan, I could've slipped her a fertility potion. I  _thought_  I would be doing us all a favour because she's  _seventeen_  and in her  _sixth_  year, and  _you_  want me to be headmaster when Dumbledore dies. I thought you were intending to ensure I kept my position, which will  _not_  be easy if I impregnate my teenage wife! You  _knew_  it had never been my intention to marry or to have children, my Lord! You've known for as long as you've known me that I  _despise_  children and that I had no intention of passing on my worthless father's name. You gave me no warning about being forced to marry her, and you mentioned nothing about me impregnating her, so I took  _precautions_. Despite her blood status, I had no intention of letting any witch I was fucking fall pregnant, least of all one with as much potential as Miss Granger. I didn't want to ruin her life, or mine, by involving a child."

"Keep in mind that the child will be a vessel for me, Severus. You will not be forced to feed it or raise it or teach it how to use the toilet. I will inhabit it, knowing all that I know, and I will use Aging Potion to speed through the childhood years so that I can kill Potter as an adult. One of the predominant reasons for my asking  _you_  to do this was because I  _do_  know your distaste for children. I believed that, of all my followers, you would be the least likely to grow attached to the notion of producing an heir, and the least likely to object to having its soul snuffed out before I inhabited the body left behind."

Severus wondered if he ought to be thoroughly disgusted with himself for the fact that anyone could think such a thing of him, or flattered that the Dark Lord knew him so well.

"And the girl?" he asked. "How am I to convince her to remain pregnant while she's still a student, my Lord? Telling her not to worry because there won't be any nappy changing or midnight feedings at the other end will hardly be a comfort. What you're asking here is that we conceive a life  _specifically_  for you to be able to murder our child and wear its body. No one in their right mind would agree to that, my Lord."

"Don't tell her," the Dark Lord shrugged. "She is hardly in a position to object. She is your wife."

Severus furrowed his brow.

"I think you are mistaking my character if you believe I would beat or rape my wife, my Lord," Severus said stiffly. "I will not make my father's mistakes. Even if she is a mudblood."

The Dark Lord sighed. "All I need for you to do is to get her pregnant and ensure she remains healthy and doesn't miscarry, Severus. I don't care about her feelings when I take the baby from her womb and inhabit it as my own. I don't care if she never gets over it. She is not important  _except_  as an incubator."

"You would become my son, my Lord," Severus argued.

"A fitting turn of events, given that I've spent a lifetime thinking of you as mine," the Dark Lord muttered, looking away and Severus's eyes widened in shock.

He wondered if the Dark Lord was simply toying with him. Had he picked up on Severus's earlier thoughts about how the man had been like a father to him? Was he just manipulating him to get him to agree to this rubbish? Severus supposed it didn't matter. He knew there would be no choice. When he took this information to Albus, the other wizard would be horrified, but there would be no other way that they could control  _when_ Potter would be able to murder the Dark Lord. Until the Dark Lord had a new body, he would not be able to kill Potter, thus giving Potter plenty of time to find and destroy the remaining horcruxes.

"How am I to ensure she keeps it, my Lord? If I let on that I  _want_  her to be pregnant, she will grow suspicious."

"You will think of something, Severus," the Dark Lord said. "You always do. If we must wait a few months for the contraceptive to wear off, so be it. She could be pregnant by the summer, Dumbledore will be gone, and you will be in charge at the school. I can bide my time until then. As it is, I cannot kill Potter, so there is little point pursuing him."

"My Lord," Severus bowed his head, clenching his fists, trying to ignore the anger simmering in his gut.

He'd never wanted to be a father, but Merlin knew that even he wasn't so unconscionable as to condone something like this. He wanted to fling a Killing Curse at the Dark Lord at that very moment.

"You are angry," the Dark Lord noted, picking up on his thoughts or his body language, Severus couldn't tell.

"I have a right to be, my Lord," Severus replied evenly. "I would appreciate a little more warning in future if you seek to destroy my life so effectively."

"It would ruin your life to serve me, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked. "I have come to  _you_  to request that you provide me something so important that I would carry it with me for the rest of my life."

"You have doomed me to a life married to a woman twenty years my junior who will never get over the fact that upon conception of our first child, you will commit murder, consigning us to a wretched life of hatred and blame when she finds out that I knew about your intentions all along. She will never forgive me for this, and thanks to your insistence on the wretched inclusion of Olde Magic in the wedding ceremony, I cannot divorce her or ever be free of her. As though my life wasn't already miserable enough, you have compounded upon that with this request and consigned me to a life of hatred and misery until the day I die."

"Not if you kill her when she has served her purpose," the Dark Lord shrugged, rising to his feet, uncaring about Granger's fate just as soon as he got what he wanted.

Severus curled his lip, his fists clenching in fury as he rose, too. It was just as well that they were planning on raiding and wreaking havoc, Severus thought bitterly, because he was murderous enough to lay waste to the entire brethren right at that moment, and he doubted that feeling would go away any time soon.


	26. Chapter 26

Hermione groaned as she stretched luxuriantly in the big soft bed. The faintest glow of moonlight was streaming through the window and Hermione could tell the world was dark. She frowned as she blinked opened her eyes, sitting up in bed slowly and trying to make sense of where she was and what day it was. She supposed, based on the silence within the house, that it must be very late and that she'd slept through the remainder of Christmas day.

She couldn't bring herself to care. She was in no fit state for company, if she was being honest, and she'd really rather just go back to sleep. She didn't want to talk to anyone. She didn't want to have to defend her actions for having originally shagged Severus. She didn't want to talk about how that shagging was the stepping stone that had paved the way for her to end up married to him. She didn't want to fight with Harry, or explain herself to Molly, or put up with Ginny bitching her out.

Indeed, as she sat there in the enormous bed, Hermione didn't think she'd ever felt so alone and she put her face in her hands, trying to will away the thoughts that plagued her. She couldn't do this. She couldn't allow herself to fall pregnant for the sake of the war. She couldn't carry a baby in her womb for nine months only to give it up and watch that monster wearing its body around. She couldn't bear the thought. She couldn't stand the idea of doing that to herself or to Snape, and even knowing it was the only way to control when Voldemort would be able to be killed by Harry, it wasn't something that sat well inside her mind.

She was angry. She wanted to cry. She wanted her Mum, if she was being honest. She wanted someone to smooth their fingers through her hair and to tell her everything was going to be alright, and to tell her there was another way. Surely, there was another way.

But there wasn't. Well, there was, but it involved Carrow and Dolohov taking the place of her and Snape, and there was no guarantee that Harry would be able to win against Voldemort when he wore such a body. No, if Hermione carried his vessel to term, it would be born powerful,  _but_  there were things she could do to weaken him. Hermione knew there were things she could take, things she could inject, and things she could do that would subtly weaken the body that Lord Voldemort intended to steal. She could summarily poison it just enough that when Voldemort claimed it, it might not survive the ritual, or might fail on him at any given moment once he was in it.

Gritting her teeth on her morbid thoughts, Hermione tried to put it all out of her mind. It was something she didn't have to think about for a few months, at least. Not with the contraceptive Snape had given her last night racing through her system.

Her bond to him throbbed numbly as she thought of him, her soul tingling with the yearning to see him again, the magic almost stinging because she'd spent so much time outside of his presence when their marriage was still so new. Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to stay away from him for long, but she doubted she would be able to return to Selwyn Hall this evening. It was too late in the evening, and Severus had warned her that she would need to be careful, lest she be drawn into the darkness and depravity the Death Eaters had planned.

No, the safest thing to do would be to stay here and to just avoid Harry until he'd had a chance to cool down. Then again, she needed clothes and her trunk from there. It seemed foolish to her now, that she'd taken her trunk there last night. She could always go back and risk running into the other Death Eaters. Severus might be there. She was sure that she'd feel better if she could just burrow into his embrace, or even if she could just feel him driving himself into her so hard and deep that she could feel it in the back of her throat.

Scrubbing her hands over her face, Hermione threw off the covers and swung her feet out of bed. She noticed that she'd been put to bed still wrapped in her dress from the lunch she'd had with the brethren, and Hermione sighed, recalling that Remus had carried her to bed and tucked her in. She was eternally grateful that the werewolf hadn't pushed her or seemed too judgmental about her involvement with Severus – a feat in itself given their less than pleasant association, their unfortunate history, and Remus having once been a teacher, too.

Her stomach rumbled as she stood and stretched again, and Hermione sighed. She supposed she would have to brave the kitchens here or return to Selwyn Hall if she wanted something to eat. Figuring she'd need her trunk, Crookshanks, and her pyjamas, Hermione slipped her feet back into her boots and located the travelling cloak Remus must've unfastened for her when he'd put her to bed.

She was silent as she tripped down the many stairs toward the front door of Grimmauld Place, hoping against hope that she wouldn't run into anyone. The late hour practically guaranteed it, but she was still worried as she traversed the many stairs past muttering portraits and the bedrooms that housed her friends. She heard snoring coming from the room Ron and Harry shared, and Hermione smiled ruefully, knowing the sound was coming from Ron. She was tempted to forget her trunk and her hunger and just crawl into bed next to the red-haired wizard to let him hold her until she felt better, but she didn't go inside. She didn't want to face Harry so soon.

Continuing down through the house, Hermione passed Remus's door and noticed that it was open, the bed rumpled, but empty. She frowned, wondering if the werewolf was on duty somewhere tonight or if he'd finally let Tonks seduce him. Shaking her head, she continued down, passing the door to the room she usually shared with Ginny. Hermione stopped when a sound from inside the room caught her attention.

The door was ever so slightly ajar, and Hermione frowned, tiptoeing over and pushing it a little wider to investigate the noise, wondering if Ginny was having a nightmare.

She almost swallowed her tongue when she saw something other than the redhead sleeping fitfully. Stretched on his back on top of Ginny's bed, stark naked, was Harry Potter. Hermione's cheeks flushed crimson when she noticed that Ginny was straddling him, rocking herself up and down as she rode him. She blinked stupidly for a moment before quickly looking away and pulling the door closed as quietly as she could.

She frowned as she stood outside the door, wondering when  _that_  had become a thing. Perhaps this was their first time? Hermione didn't know. Ginny had fancied Harry forever, and she'd known that Harry was interested in Ginny, too. She just hadn't known they'd begun seeing each other, or that they were shagging. She'd accused Harry of being a virgin when she'd been hissing at him about not understanding sex and not judging her for shagging Severus.

Clearly, she'd been wrong. Hermione wondered if Ron knew his best mate was shagging his sister. She wondered if Harry might be in a better bloody mood tomorrow, since he was getting laid. She wondered if she should say something to either of them. She wondered if she was a hypocrite for feeling hurt that Ginny hadn't told her about this. She supposed she had no right to know. She'd never told Ginny that she'd been shagging Ron over the summer, and she'd definitely never mentioned that she'd been shagging Snape until this whole mess. She could hardly be put out with Ginny for not telling her that she and Harry were finally getting somewhere when she'd been less than forthcoming, herself.

Shaking her head, Hermione hurried down the stairs and to the door, letting herself out of the house and disapparating directly onto the grounds at Selwyn Hall. Despite the winter chill in the air, Hermione stood outside the enormous house for a long moment simply looking up at it. It really was impressive, and she could feel the magic in the currents under her feet, humming with delight that she'd returned.

There were no lights on inside the house, and Hermione was relieved, supposing that must mean that she was alone on the property. She knew it was for the best. Wherever Severus was, he was probably doing or witnessing something unspeakable, and if the Death Eaters weren't here, then she was better off. Even if she did kind of miss the snarky git.

She sighed softly, shaking her head to herself and reminding herself that up until yesterday, they'd only shagged twice – well three times, if more than one time in a single day counted - and he'd been avoiding her like the plague after that. He'd gone out of his way to keep from having to interact with her more than once, even if he had summoned her into his office a time or two thanks to her detentions; and he'd tolerated her invasions when she demanded her answers about this mess and the Darkness infecting her soul. She tried to remind herself that when term resumed, she would have to pretend that she was merely his student and that she had never seen him naked. She'd been doing that already, of course, but she suspected that up until now it had been made easier by the fact that outside of the days she had lessons, she never actually  _had_  to see him when they were both at Hogwarts. She didn't  _have_  to look in the direction of the staff table during meals to watch him pick over his food and grit his teeth through interacting with his colleagues.

She didn't have to trail along his most common patrol routes to see if she might run into him by 'accident'. She didn't have to give in to the stupid crush she'd been nursing for the man for months and months. She could exhibit a little restraint and just pretend he was merely her surly teacher, and nothing more.

Frowning to herself when she recalled that he might very well begin attempting to get her pregnant in short order on Voldemort's command, and thus, might begin seeking her out more purposefully whilst they were both at the school, Hermione supposed she would need to be on the lookout more often. As long as the contraceptive was in her system, it wouldn't matter, but when it wore off, he would surely begin attempting to corner her and shag her at every opportunity for the sake of knocking her up, and Hermione wasn't having it.

Come the end of March, she would be susceptible to pregnancy, once more, and then she would need to look out. If she could avoid getting pregnant to begin with, she would be better off. She doubted it would be healthy or all that safe for her to be inducing miscarriages herself if and when she got pregnant. Grumbling to herself under her breath, Hermione stomped through the snow toward the house, pushing open the front door with a little more force than necessary.

A low growl met her ears and Hermione narrowed her eyes, lighting the tip of her wand and trying to determine if the sound was emitting from Greyback, or from Crookshanks. When the glow of her wand-tip reflected from the large, eerily glowing green eyes of the werewolf guarding the door, Hermione curled her lip.

"Greyback, if you so much as bare your fangs at me, I swear to Merlin I will make you regret it," she hissed at the werewolf, glaring down her nose at him even as she flicked her wand and lit every lantern in the house.

The wolf rose from the spot where he laid on the cushion, blinking blearily at the sudden inundation of light, and Hermione bared her teeth at the wolf when he immediately invaded her space, sniffing her frantically. She knew he'd be able to smell Remus all over her, and would likely be reacting to it, but she didn't care. She was in no mood for being snarled at by some murderous and cannibalistic monster and she was only too willing to take her rapidly worsening mood out on whoever got in her way.

The feel of his nose brushing her chest, her stomach, and then lower made her reach for him without even thinking, and the werewolf snarled angrily when she took hold of his ear and twisted it painfully in punishment for his sticking his nose between her legs.

"If I want someone sticking their nose between my legs, Greyback, I'll seek out my husband," she hissed at him. "I don't care if you  _are_  simply reacting to Remus's scent, you will treat me with a little respect, or I will evict you from this house. Is that clear?"

He narrowed his eyes on her angrily, yanking his ear out of her grip and circling her, still breathing in her scent.

"I will also have you know that after a brief, but thorough interaction with Moony, I am  _not_  linked to Remus's pack, and that I smell like him because my magical depletion got the best of me in his company and he was forced to tuck me into bed. While he may not be my alpha based on pack-bond, Moony is fond of me and cares for me like I'm his pup. And I swear to Merlin, if you sniff me arse, I'm going to kick you in the ribs."

Greyback huffed at her before very deliberately sniffing her arse and Hermione levelled a kick in his direction in her fury. He dodged it, emitting a soft sound like laughter before he transformed right in front of her. Hermione watched with no small amount of awe as the werewolf rose to his full human height, curling the wolf-skin around himself like a bathrobe and very considerately covering his naked form as best he could without real clothing.

"Bit late, aren't you, girly?" Greyback asked, smirking wickedly at her and not looking at all repentant for sniffing her so inappropriately.

"I haven't actually looked at the time," Hermione admitted.

"A few hours off dawn," Greyback said, shifting his shoulder slightly as though needing to get used to human form once more.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione wanted to know, crossing the entranceway to hang her travelling cloak on the hook by the door before making a beeline in the direction of the kitchen.

"I told you I'd be here until the Dark Lord orders otherwise," Greyback said, dogging her steps down the hall and into the kitchen.

Not even the elves were still awake at the late hour, but Hermione didn't mind. Flicking her wand to light the lanterns and to stoke the hearth, she crossed the kitchen to the pantry and began digging out the ingredients to make herself a toasted sandwich.

"Are you hungry?" Hermione asked of the werewolf behind her, noticing the way he stood awkwardly in the kitchen as though he wasn't entirely sure what to do with himself.

"Offering yourself to me already, girly?" Greyback taunted.

"I get the feeling that, even if I were, attempts to act on such notions would be short-lived when my vows ignited, Mr Greyback," Hermione drawled in response, finding that it was best not to bother being offended when dealing with Death Eaters and men who made up the less savory half of their society, because scandal in the face of their suggestiveness only encouraged them.

"Pity, that," Greyback grinned. "What're you making?"

"Toasted ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches," Hermione shrugged.

"Never had one," he said, frowning at her.

Hermione turned to look at him fully, midway through slicing a tomato, her brow furrowed.

"Really?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"How long have you been a werewolf, Mr Greyback?" Hermione asked curiously.

"I was born this way," he informed her.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said, beginning to fix enough sandwiches to feed… well… a hungry werewolf. "The condition cannot be passed on genetically via reproduction. Pack bonds can, but the actual affliction cannot."

"And how would you know?"

"I'm living proof," she said. "I have no immediate relatives who are werewolves, I am not a werewolf, and yet I carry a pack bond to someone."

"No, girly. What you carry is the tiny fostering of an undisturbed wolf. It's right there in your genetic make-up, it just hasn't been stirred to great enough ire to infect you and activate the curse."

"You know the curse can only be passed on via a bite, Mr Greyback," Hermione argued.

"If that were the case, where did the infection come from, eh? Someone had to be patient zero, and as such, can't have been bitten."

"They can't have simply had it in their genes, either. Not unless they were some heinously monstrous devil-spawn resultant of beastiality. Everything I've researched points toward the drinking of rain water on a full moon night from the footprint of a wolf, actually. It's believed that's where the affliction started."

"Did your textbooks tell you that, little girl?" he taunted softly from across the room where he'd lowered himself into the same chair from the night before, patiently watching her make them both something to snack on.

"As a matter of fact, they did."

"Books published by wizards rarely inform all the facts about werewolves, girly," he told her. "No one ever gets close enough to learn the whole truth and lives to tell the tale."

"Most of the sources I read were actually written by werewolves," Hermione argued.

"Yeah, werewolves like Lupin, who've never run with the pack beneath the glow of the full moon, and never ripped into hot flesh with sharp fangs. Werewolves who've never known the thrill of the hunt and the intoxicating scent of fear poisoning their minds to all but the bloodlust," Greyback said quietly. "Trust me, girly, the truth about werewolves and our origins isn't written in some book."

"Then where is it?" she asked curiously as she assembled the sandwiches for the two of them and began toasting them in the frypan.

Greyback shrugged. "Closest I've ever heard is that a wizard who could do animagi fucked a she-wolf and the resultant offspring were werewolves."

Hermione wrinkled her nose, though she'd actually heard the idea once before.

"You really think people are born with a lycanthropic gene? After all, you weren't  _born_  a werewolf. You still had to be bitten to activate it, didn't you?"

"I was bitten the minute I came out of the womb," Fenrir admitted shrugging. "Already had the gene, or I wouldn't be a werewolf, see? If you're not predisposed to it, you don't have the fight inside of you to survive when the mutation kicks in, no matter the powdered silver and dittany paste. If you don't got the gene – meaning you don't got the little, undisturbed wolf – then you don't survive the bite. I could bite you on the next full moon and that little wolf inside of you would activate, allowing you to survive the bite, even if you didn't use the paste."

"You have to use the paste, or you die," Hermione argued.

"The only wolf I've ever made who used the paste was Lupin, girly," he argued quietly. "The rest, I just seek out the ones who can handle the bite, and let nature take its course."

"Then why bother with the paste?" she frowned. "It's written into the laws of magical healing that it's the only way to prevent death from a werewolf bite."

"Sometimes people get lucky," he shrugged. "You? You've got the wolf right there under your skin, girly. I can smell her, and I can almost see her. Means that whoever your sire was, he's powerful. Old. Definitely been a wolf a long time."

"My sire would be my muggle father. He is not a werewolf, is not old, and is not really all that powerful," she informed him.

"You sure he's your daddy?" Fenrir challenged.

"I have his eyes," Hermione said. "I'm sure. My parents did tests on my when I began showing signs of being magical."

"Then you've got a grandparent who's a wolf."

"I've met all of my grandparents, Fenrir. None of them are magical. None of them are werewolves."

'You sure about that? There's absolutely no chance that maybe your granny fucked around and got knocked up before she had your daddy? If you've got his eyes, you got the wolf gene from him, girly."

"You're suggesting my paternal grandmother had an affair?" she scoffed. "Come on."

Fenrir didn't look at all like he was joking even as she brought him a plate stacked high with toasted sandwiches.

"When we finish these, you're gonna bathe, girly," he informed her quietly, and Hermione frowned as she sat down opposite him, surprised by the quiet intensity in his eyes.

He was looking at her in the same way Remus had done, almost like he thought she was something small and cute, and something that he was curious about.

"Why? You think I stink?" she asked. "You can hardly talk, Mr Greyback. When was the last time you showered? You're literally grimy."

She licked her thumb before reaching for his hand, smearing the wetted digit over the back of his hand and showing him the way the grime on his skin shifted. He frowned at the appendage for a minute.

"Reckon you want to share a shower with me, girly?" he asked, smirking.

"Not even a little bit," Hermione shook her head, smirking. "I think that if I did, I'd end up squished in the corner. Even this place doesn't have a shower big enough to hold you if someone else is in there with you."

He smirked, before ripping into one of the sandwiches she'd made for him savagely.

"You're a curious little thing, girly. You're not afraid of me, are you?" he asked, tipping his head to one side.

Hermione contemplated him.

"I don't trust you," she admitted, frowning as she regarded him. "But no, I'm not afraid of you."

"You said you had an encounter with Lupin's wolfish side tonight, too?" he asked. "Were you afraid when the wolf took hold of him?"

Hermione smiled.

"No," she admitted. "I'm not afraid of Moony. I… well, actually, whenever the wolf stirs in him I…"

Fenrir raised a dark eyebrow at her around a mouthful of his food.

"You wanna fuck him?" he guessed.

"No," Hermione shook her head. "No, I've never really been struck by desire when I look at him or talk to him. I just want to… be close to him. I want to touch him, but not in a sexual way… When Moony took control tonight, I… well, I touched his teeth."

"Did his fangs grow in?" Greyback asked when he'd swallowed. "Like mine?"

He pointed to his own too-sharp fangs inside his mouth that were very evidently the teeth of a wolf even though they were in the mouth of a man.

"Not like that, no," she shook her head, feeling the strangest urge to touch his teeth, too. "Not as sharp or as canine. Mostly his human teeth sharpened enough to look unusual, but not unnatural."

"He let you touch them?" Greyback wanted to know.

"He didn't want me to stop," Hermione said. "Even when Moony relinquished control back to Remus, he didn't want me to stop. Remus whimpered when I pulled my hand away, and he licked me here, right between my eyes, when both Moony and Remus were in control."

She pointed to her forehead where Remus had licked her. And she squeaked in surprised when Greyback lunged across the table, closing the distance between them and sniffing her there intently.

"Like a pup," he muttered, before he pulled back. "You… You've wanted to touch his teeth before, yeah? And maybe wanted to play with his hair, and scratch behind his ears, and toy with his fingers, right? Maybe snuggle up with him every now and then?"

Hermione nodded. "I've snuggled up and shared the couch in the library, and sometimes a blanket and a book with him before."

"In a sexual manner?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Just in an urge to be close and provided comfort and draw comfort from him, too. He doesn't allow it very often. Usually only in the lead up to, or directly following a full moon. The rest of the time he's friendly enough, but not really that affectionate."

"No, he wouldn't be, unless the wolf is close to the surface," Greyback said. "Tell me something, girly."

"What?" she asked.

"You want to touch my teeth right now?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow and pulling his lips back to reveal his sharp fangs.

Hermione almost trembled in her seat.

"I…" she frowned, her fingers positively itching to touch his teeth. "Yes. Yes, I want to."

"They're sharp," he warned even as he leaned forward, inviting her to touch him.

Hermione couldn't resist. Without thinking, she reached out and smoothed her thumb along one of his incisors.

"Your Daddy's a dentist, yeah?" he asked softly, his eyelids lowering to half-mast when she tested the sharp point of his incisor against the pad of her thumb, putting a little tear in the top epidermal layer.

"He is," she admitted.

"Likes touching people's teeth too, then?" he asked. "You ever wanted to touch anyone else's?"

"No," Hermione admitted in a murmur, frowning. "Only yours and Remus's. I don't think I've ever…. Wait…."

She trailed off, frowning intensely as she touched Greyback's teeth, going so far as to set down her food and climb out of her chair, rounding the small table and invading his space until she was inside his personal space, her knees balanced on the seat of his chair in the space between his spread legs while both of her hands fondled his teeth.

"There was a man…" she whispered, a memory surfacing from the depths of her brain. "I don't remember his name. He used to come to the park where I played as a girl… there was a small woodland on one side. He'd always lean against the trees there and watch me. I remember going over to him one day when the other kids had pushed me off the swings and I'd skinned my palms."

She didn't notice it when Greyback lifted his arms to encircle her small waist in his large hands, the heat of them penetrating through the cloth of her dress.

"He licked them clean," she whispered, caught in the memory. "And when he was done, he let me touch his teeth and sit on his tummy while he leaned against a tree inside the woods."

"Did he hurt you?" Greyback asked, though his voice was husky and soft as though he were distracted.

"No," Hermione whispered. "He held me when I cried because the muggle children were mean to me and he let me play with his teeth and his hair, and I think I fell asleep on his chest. I woke up in my bed the next morning and he was gone, and Mum didn't know how I'd gotten home. I was only five at the time."

"Do you remember what he looked like?" Greyback asked.

Hermione closed her eyes, pulling at the threads of the memory.

"He had eyes like mine," she whispered. "Dark brown, but with a glimmer of magic in them. Sandy hair. It was long, like yours, and tangled. He smelled like the woods. Like loam and dirt and rain."

"Did he have a scar down the left side of his face?" Fenrir whispered.

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Yes," she murmured. "From the corner of his left eye and running down his cheek and halfway down his neck. Three lines. Claw marks. I traced them with my fingers and he nuzzled against my hands. He… he bit me."

Hermione opened her eyes abruptly when Greyback moved and she sliced open the pad of her thumb on the point of his right incisor.

"Ouch," she said.

She made to lift the appendage to her mouth, but before she could, he caught her wrist and took the digit between his lips, growling softly at the taste of her blood.

"Greyback," she warned when he closed his eyes and suckled her thumb, drawing the blood into his mouth.

"Trust me, girly," he murmured when he let her pull her hand away.

His hands were still wrapped around her waist snugly, and she was well within his personal space. The taste of her blood had deepened the colour of his eyes to a rich, burnished gold.

"You should let go," she said, frowning and wondering why her bonds to Severus weren't stinging when he was touching her so intimately.

"Let me see that bite," he commanded quietly. "You said the wolf in the park bit you. Show me where."

Hermione frowned, recalling the memory she'd spoken of and reaching a hand to the back of her neck behind her ear. Twisting her head and shifting her hair to the side, Hermione's fingers sought out the feel of a faded scar right at the base of her hairline about two inches behind her left ear. She could feel the smooth skin where it had scarred, and she twisted in Greyback's grip to reveal the bite to him, needing someone else to confirm that it was there.

He used his grip on her waist to turn her body and Hermione squeaked in surprise when the huge werewolf tugged her down to perch on his lap, one his large hands smoothing around to rest intimately against her stomach while the other tangled in her hair, tipping her head to better allow him to see the scar.

"Did it hurt?" he asked. "When he bit you, did you cry?"

Hermione frowned, holding very still when the werewolf leaned into her, pressing his nose against the scar.

"No," she said, frowning, though she knew it should've done, she couldn't remember it hurting when she'd been bitten. She hadn't remembered ever meeting the man or being bitten by him until that very moment, in fact.

"Did he ever hurt you?" Fenrir asked, his hot breath ghosting over the nape of her neck in a way that ought to have unsettled her.

She wondered what to make of it when it neither terrified, sickened, or aroused her.

"I don't think so," Hermione said. "Other than the bite, but I don't recall it hurting. I only remember touching his teeth and telling him about how mean the other kids were to me and sitting with him until I fell asleep. He must've known where I lived and carried me home."

"Do you remember how old he looked?" he asked.

Hermione frowned.

"In his thirties, maybe?" she said.

"How old do I look, to you?" he asked, surprising her.

Hermione frowned, turning and tracing her eyes over him as she climbed back out of his lap. She was surprised when he let her without trying to stop her.

"About the same," she said. "Maybe thirty-five?"

His lips pulled up at one corner.

"I'll be eighty-seven next month," he informed her. "Did your wolf look older or younger than me?"

"Older," she said. "Maybe thirty-eight or thirty-nine. Forty at a stretch."

"So probably older than a hundred," Greyback murmured. "Definitely a werewolf. Your sire, I'd wager. Let me see those eyes."

He rose swiftly to his full height, standing close enough that their chests brushed together. Hermione had to tip her head back to hold his gaze as he towered over her. He leaned down a little, staring directly into her eyes and Hermione wondered what he was looking for. She blinked nervously when his eyes suddenly brightened from burnished gold all the way through to a colour so bright it made her feel like she was looking directly into the sun.

His hand came up to cup her chin when she tried to look away, holding her still and forcing her to hold his gaze as he lowered his head closer and closer to hers until their foreheads touched. For several long minutes, he simply stared into her eyes and she got the feeling the colour of his eyes and whatever he was doing was some lycanthropic magic.

When her eyes began to water and a low whine tore from her throat, he let her go, chuckling a little and blinking that brightness of his eyes. Hermione stepped back from him, rubbing her eyes and trying to ignore the strangest tingle coursing through her limbs like something inside of her was waking up and stretching languidly.

"What did you do?" she asked, feeling more than a bit lightheaded and jelly legged.

"Took a look at that little wolf hiding inside your soul," he murmured, and Hermione blinked stupidly when the sadistic werewolf carded his fingers gently through her hair.

"And?" she asked.

"And I know who your sire is," he said in a low voice. "Might be high time I paid him a visit, too. Tell me something, girly?"

"What now?" She asked. "Whatever you did made me really dizzy."

"Mmmm, you've all but depleted your magic and you need rest. Getting a look at that little she-wolf inside woke up some of the latent lycanthrope magic inside of you. You're probably feeling tingly and weak-kneed, as well as dizzy."

"I am," she muttered.

"Tell me this, then, girly, and we'll get you tucked away in bed," he said softly, sounding almost fond of her. "Now that we know who your sire is, and we know you don't share a pack-bond with Lupin, what are you going to do? The Dark Lord told Snape tonight about his little plan to use you as an incubator to cook himself up a body. Snape wasn't happy."

"What did he say?"

"That you'd abort any kid you caught without even telling him unless he told you the truth, and that if you knew the truth, you'd abort any pup he fucked into you just for spite to keep the Dark Lord from getting his hands on the body," Fenrir said. "Is that true?"

Hermione blinked dizzily trying to bring him into focus and finding herself actually grateful that he had his hands tangled into her hair, otherwise she'd probably have fallen over.

"I… I'm only seventeen," she whispered. "I'm still in high school. And it's not the right time for Voldemort and Harry to face off whilst actually able to kill each other."

"You mean to make it so that those bits of his soul that he's ripped away are all gone before letting them fight each other," Greyback said seriously, and Hermione marveled at his ability to figure that out so easily.

"Until the other bits of his soul are destroyed, killing him with be for nothing," she said. "We could kill him now and he'd just be a wraith, forced to find another body to possess until he could re-do the potion he used to make the body he's got now, or until such time that he could steal a baby, just the same. We have to kill off all the other bits first before the part inhabiting his body now can be extinguished. Like a hyrda. All the heads have to be lopped off before the body will be weak enough to expire."

"Hydra's respawn their heads whenever you chop them off," he pointed out.

"And if he knew we were extinguishing his horcruxes Voldemort would just try to make more so that he can live forever," she nodded. "He can't know we're destroying them until the end, so he can't have a body that will let him fight Harry and die until the horcruxes are gone. If he gets one, he'll kill Harry before we're ready, and even if the rest of us kill off the body he's inhabiting, he'll live on and rise again and again, only without a fated Chosen One to end his reign of terror."

"That's a yes, then?" Greyback asked. "You'll terminate any pup Snape shoot into you."

"Only until the time is right," she whispered. "I know you wanted to end the torment sooner, rather than later, but that might be impossible."

"If you lose too many, the Dark Lord will know you're sabotaging the pregnancies," he warned her.

"I had every intention of making them look like accidents. I will prolong the length of time before I fall pregnant, and fabricate lies about possible infertility thanks to Dolohov's curse. And just when they are thinking of giving up, I will let myself fall pregnant and tell them, giving them hope, before terminating if Harry's not ready, yet."

"They'll know," he warned her.

"Not if they don't tell me it's their intention to make me pregnant," she shook her head. "Severus won't tell me. He knows I wouldn't agree to being pregnant at seventeen when I'm still in school. He knows he'd lose his job if word got out that we're married. He knows that even if he came to me and did tell me I needed to get pregnant on the Dark Lord's orders, I'd run before I'd allow it. He'll keep it from me until he has no other choice but to admit the truth of his intentions, or right up until I give birth and the Dark Lord crushes the soul out of my son. I expect that when I  _do_  fall pregnant, they'll also test me to learn the sex of the child and force me to miscarry if it's a girl."

"You won't survive that, girly," Greyback muttered, his eyes wide like he couldn't believe his ears. "I've seen into your soul, little moonlight. You're not cut out for a heartless existence."

"What choice do I have?" she asked. "If I don't do it, he'll jus make Carrow and Dolohov carry the kid, and then I'll have no control over when he gets his body."

"Better her than you, little one," Greyback whispered.

"Last night you were saying that if I couldn't do it, you'd rip my throat out," she said.

"Last night was different," he said. "I didn't know what I know now. I didn't know whose pack you belonged to, then."

"Does it make such a difference now that you do?" she asked, frowning at him.

"Yes," he said gruffly, his eyes wide as he regarded her like he wasn't sure he could believe what he'd learned.

"Why?" she asked warily. "Whose pack do I belong to? Who is my sire?"

"He's your real granddaddy, little moonlight," Fenrir whispered. "His name is Oberon."

"Oberon?" Hermione asked, testing the name, not sure she wanted to believe she had a grandfather who was a werewolf. "Oberon who?"

Greyback's mouth twisted uncomfortably like he didn't know if he wanted to snarl or smile.

"Oberon Greyback," he said in a gruff voice, his fingernails scraping delightfully against her scalp. "My big brother."

Hermione wondered if it was exhaustion or shock that drove her into unconsciousness.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Fenrir Greyback caught the little witch when she sagged in his arms, her mind giving out thanks to the effect of his scan deep into her magic and her wolfish heritage.

"Yeah," he muttered, his lips twitching just a bit as he stooped to scoop the tiny witch into his arms, intent on carrying her to bed. "I thought you might react like that, little moonlight."

He shook his head, carefully maneuvering through the kitchen door and striding through the house in the direction of the bedroom she'd shared with Snape the night before. She was his bloody niece. Well, his great niece, he supposed.

Oberon had a muggle son and witchy granddaughter.

Of course, he fucking did. The bloody bastard. Worse, the cunt obviously knew about the girl, since he'd bitten her and he'd held her and he looked after her when she'd been young. He knew about her and he'd obviously not been around in a while, since the girl was still human and not a werewolf. Maybe he was biding his time.

Maybe he'd left the country. It's been at least fifteen years since Fenrir had seen his big brother. And he'd spent a lifetime building a pack of his own and squirming his way free out from under their father's heavy paw. Born to different mothers, and infected by their mothers at birth, rather than their father, they didn't even technically belong to the same pack, which was why he didn't share a pack bond with the little bitch.

No wonder Lupin had taken a shine to her. No wonder he'd taken a shine to her, himself.

And not in a sexual manner. This little witch did nothing to stir the urge to fuck in his blood. No, she did something far worse; she stirred up his instinct to protect, and she stirred up his curiosity. And he did want to protect her, he realized. He'd realized it last night in the kitchen when he'd taken her hands. He doubted there was anything he could do to hurt this little witch. Even if the Dark Lord ordered him under pain of death, he doubted he'd be able to rip her throat out.

He doubted he'd even be able to turn her. His tongue still stung with the flavor of her blood where she'd cut her finger on his fangs. He'd known then, the minute he tasted her blood and tasted that sharp sting, that she was family. And fucking Jupiter, she stirred up his urge to protect her with all the ferocity he'd feel were she his very own daughter, rather than just his niece. He'd bet Lupin could feel it too. They weren't Pack, but they  _were_  Sire and Pup. He'd bitten that pup and infected him with lycanthropy. That practically made him family. Hell, the pup didn't know about the two days he'd spent tending that kid and caring for him before Lyall fucking Lupin had hunted him down and stolen the boy back.

The kid was practically his prodigal son in all but blood, and the wolf in him clearly recognized the family of the wolf who'd made him, even if he didn't know that's what he'd recognized in her. He'd bet they acted like Alpha and cub, in fact. He'd bet the fucker cared for the girl like she was his very own daughter, even if he didn't know what to do with the emotions and the instincts most of the time.

He'd been licking her between the eyes, and Fenrir knew that was the first sign. Hell, as he strode into the girl's bedroom and peeled back the covers before laying her down on the mattress, he understood that urge all too well.

"You sleep in that thing and you'll get all tanlged up, girly," he muttered to her, though she was unconscious.

The dress was too thick, and the skirt too full to be comfortable. Rolling her to her stomach, Fenrir used the tips of his claws to unzip the garment, peeling open the back of it and scooping his hands inside it around her slim torso. He lifted her right out of it like she was a ragdoll, having to use his foot to pin the garment to the bed and pull her free. She hung limp in his arms, unresponsive and deeply asleep, but when he kicked the dress off the bed and laid her back down on it in just her knickers and a camisole, she grizzled.

"Still in there then, little one," he muttered, chuckling. "Rest, girly. I reckon that bastard husband of yours will be home in short order, and he's burning like he hasn't in almost twenty years. Burning with that rage that scares the shit out of everyone he meets and drives him to cruelty like you should never know. The fucker will unleash it on you, too, I reckon. And there's nothing I can do about it, moonlight. Not when he's the one involved. Not when I've got to pretend I'm not planning to slaughter that snake-faced fucker once and for all. Not when you're so determined to rip out your own heart and let these fuckers steal your pup for their own gains. I can't let you do it, precious. You're not strong enough for that, little one. Not yet. Not ever, I hope. Don't follow in your Grandaddy's pawprints, yeah? That path only leads to heartbreak and a burning bitter rage that will consume the likes of your sweet soul."

Shaking his head to himself and carefully tucking the tiny witch beneath the thick blankets, being sure to cover her completely to ensure she wouldn't be cold, Fenrir's lips twisted into a sad smile. When he reached to brush an unruly curl from across her face, he spotted the smudge mark on the back of his hand from her thumb, recalling her suggestion that he needed a bath. Chuckling to himself and thinking that she was probably right, Fenrir leaned down and carefully licked right between her eyes.

She stopped her grizzling and emitted a sweet little sound of contentment, stilling and resting easier as he rose to his feet.

"Sleep, Granger," he murmured. "And be on your guard until I get back, yeah? If I make it back. Jupiter knows that Oberon will try and rip my throat out when he lays eyes on me after all this time."

He walked away, intent on grabbing that shower she'd suggested before intending to seek out his big brother for the first time in almost twenty years.


	27. Chapter 27

Severus Snape cut down bodies like a man possessed. The Dark Lord was cackling gleefully as they laid waste to a muggle suburb not far from Surrey, where Potter spent the summers with his Aunt, and Severus was indiscriminate as he took the lives of muggles all around him. He had closed off the part of himself that was even still remotely human, sinking deep into his occlumination and his fury over the Dark Lord's request.

"Severus?" Lucius hissed as Severus turned his wand on a child no older that eight.

The small girl looked up at him with fearful eyes, a riot of curls dancing about her tear-stained face while she sprawled in the mud outside of her home, having been chased and followed, tormented and tortured. She'd already endured the Cruciatus curse more than once, and she was beyond terrified if the acrid scent of urine permeating her clothes was anything to go by.

Severus cut his eyes to the left, glaring at Lucius through the slits in his mask and Lucius actually recoiled just a little in horror.

"What happened?" Lucius hissed, flicking his wand at the girl and ending her life in a flash of green magic to keep Severus from becoming distracted. "What did the Dark Lord do to you? You look…"

Lucius's pale eyes traced over Severus's blood-stained robes and his furious stance carefully.

"You're burning again," Lucius concluded softly, looking like he didn't entirely believe his eyes. "Merlin's toes, Severus, what did he  _do_? You haven't burned this way since before  _she_  died."

The mention of Lily went all but unnoticed by Severus. He was too lost in the fury. Too intent on murder. He had to kill. He had to kill everything and everyone he could get his hands on because if he stopped now, he was going to kill the Dark Lord and then the brethren would turn on him.

"It's nothing, Lucius," Severus said even, flicking a lank lock of hair from his face where it had fallen free to partially obscure his blood-stained mask.

Lucius hexed him. Hitting him with a Stunning spell to the chest, Severus wasn't quite quick enough to block the attack from one of his few remaining, trusted friends. He grunted at the impact, expecting to be blasted backward and to collide with something heavily, but before he could, Lucius snatched hold of the front of his robes, disapparating them both away.

Severus struggled against the grip even as they landed awkwardly, his legs not moving quick enough as he stumbled at the jarring feel of involuntary apparation. Lucius hissed when Severus hit him with a Stinging jinx.

"What happened?" His oldest remaining friend demanded, training his wand on Severus furiously, clearly knowing better than to trust him while Severus burned.

"Nothing," Severus growled.

"Is she dead?" Lucius demanded. "Did he make you fetch the girl?"

Severus's mouth twisted into a caricature of a cold smile.

"No," he answered. "The Dark Lord has far more wretched plans for the little bitch than letting me murder her."

"What then?" Lucius hissed. "You hexed me! You look ready to murder me."

"Maybe I am," Severus sneered.

"What is going on here?" Narcissa Malfoy intruded on the fight just as Severus hit Lucius with a burning hex.

"Go back to bed, Cissy," Lucius commanded.

Severus cut his eyes to the beautiful witch, dressed as she was in only her silk robe despite the winter chill permeating Malfoy Manor.

Lucius narrowed his eyes when he saw Severus looking.

"Vows, Severus," he reminded him, crossing the small distance between them and digging the tip of his wand into Severus's neck viciously.

Severus hit him. Lucius staggered in shock, clutching the side of his jaw in surprise and baring his teeth.

"You burn again," Narcissa spoke quietly, easily taking stock of the situation and reading Severus's foul mood for what it was. "The Dark Lord has commanded something even  _you_  cannot reconcile."

Severus froze, glaring at the witch hatefully for the fact that she'd always known how to read him, even when others saw only disgust and burning hatred.

"There is nothing I can't reconcile," he snarled, denying the accusation, not wanting to think about the horrible truth.

Narcissa laughed.

"Of course not," she rolled her eyes, sarcasm dripping from every word. "What has he asked of you, Severus? Tell us so that we can all go to bed."

Severus curled his lip, having almost forgotten how cutting she could be when he burned. He tried to remind himself that they were his friends. Sometimes they were his lovers. They were people who deserved better from him, even when he didn't deserve anything but their scorn and their hatred.

Shoving Lucius away from himself, Severus curled his lip and stalked across the room, snatching up the whiskey decanter from above the mantel and lifting it to his lips. He drank deeply while the pair of them watched him warily, clearly expecting him to fly into another rage at any moment. Severus didn't blame them. It had been a long time since he'd been this angry. Not since the murder of his brothers, in fact. Not since Lily had broken up with him and run off with James Potter, instead. Even when she had died for her wretched son, Severus hadn't burned like this.

"The Dark Lord," Severus sneered coldly when the whiskey decanter was empty. "Is in need of a new body. One that is not compromised by Nagini's influence and one that does not share blood with the likes of Potter."

Lucius frowned at him, obviously not understanding, but Narcissa gasped, lifting her hands to her lips and covering them even as her eyes filled with tears.

"He has commanded that the mudblood and I will be the perfect combination of magical power to provide him that body," Severus drawled, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve like a complete heathen.

"Severus… no," Narcissa whispered, looking beyond horrified.

"Yes," Severus growled. "As such, he expects me to fuck a child into that frizzy little mudblood and to lie through my teeth to the bitch about my apparent joy over her pregnancy, before snatching the babe from her arms the minute it's born and handing it over to the Dark Lord to have its soul snuffed out like an unwanted candle before  _he_  inhabits the remaining shell."

Severus flung the decanter across the room, though he felt no better as the fine, elf-made crystal shattered into a million tiny pieces.

"When?" Lucius asked, frowning at him.

"As soon as the contraceptive I gave her last night wears off. Within the next three months," Severus hissed.

"But… why?" Lucius asked. "He went to such trouble to get Potter's blood in the first place."

"Doing so shattered Lily's blood magic, but the Dark Lord forgot that Potter also carried a Pack Bond to Lupin, passed down from James," Severus sneered. "As it's Potter's blood running through the Dark Lord's veins, he carries the same bond, and with it, the inability to slaughter the boy."

Lucius shook his head slowly.

"Your child…. Oh, Severus," Narcissa said, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes to stream down her beautiful cheeks.

"To make matters worse," Severus drawled. "Hermione Granger is  _not_  a witch who will calmly and happily allow herself to fall pregnant and remain in that condition for long.  _If_  I am able to impregnate her, as the Dark Lord commands, I expect the little wretch will self-abort, repeatedly, and that she will take steps to ensure she does not continue to fall pregnant. She is, after all, only seventeen. She is my student. She is a  _child_ , and still in high-school. She is too bloody clever for her own fucking good and she  _will_  endanger her own life to terminate her pregnancies unless I tell her the truth of why I need her to stay pregnant."

Narcissa gave a soft sob.

"As such, I will be forced to inform her that despite her young age, the stigmas, the abuse, and the wretchedness of it all, I need her to stay pregnant so that I can hand our fucking child over to the Dark Lord so he can kill the life we spark and wear the meat suit left behind. The Dark Lord, in his wisdom, has elected me for this task knowing my distaste for children, believing me capable of avoiding attachment to the sprog, and believing me the kind of man who will beat my wife into submission should she take steps to defy his orders."

Lucius was shaking his head, looking horrified, and Narcissa emitted another soft sob before she closed the distance between the two of them. She wrapped her arms around his powerful frame and buried her face in his chest, attempting to offer him comfort.

"Cissy," Lucius said, reaching for her as Severus awkwardly endured the embrace, not daring to return the hug lest he crush her in his fury.

Severus waited, allowing Lucius to peel the emotional witch off of him.

Narcissa burrowed into her husband's side, crying into his shoulder and Severus eyed Lucius detachedly. Lucius looked at a loss of what to do. In the past, when he'd burned, Severus had often taken solace in the two of them and he knew Lucius wanted to offer that solace again. It would do no good, Severus knew. The Dark Lord had insisted on fidelity for his vows to Granger to prevent him from turning to anyone else for sex or comfort.

He allowed Lucius to capture the back of his neck, letting his closest friend pull him closer until their foreheads touched despite the masks they both wore.

"If there is anything we can do, let us know, Severus," Lucius said quietly.

"Kill me?" Severus suggested bitterly.

Lucius smiled tightly, his eyes sad.

"Anything but that," he amended his offer. "Shall I kill her for you, so that you will not be required to do this?"

Severus's eyes flashed dangerously at the very idea and Lucius smirked a little, clearly thinking that for all his disparity and lack of humanity, Severus must care for the girl.

"Go to her," Lucius said. "Fuck her until the burning stops. Fuck her while the most at stake from the union is impending orgasm. Worry about the child when she is again able to conceive one."

Severus sighed softly, nodding slowly, trying to tame the fiendfrye raging inside his soul. He pulled away slowly, brushing his fingers over Narcissa's pale cheek in apology and squeezing Lucius's hand when he untangled it from the hair at the nape of his neck.

"See you tomorrow," Lucius offered quietly and Severus nodded before he stepped back and disapparated with a sharp crack, intent on locating his wife.

His first thought was Grimmauld Place, and he landed on the doorstep an hour before dawn, letting himself inside and cursing the fact that he'd never paid attention to where she slept when she was here. Narrowing his eyes, Severus cast a charm over the bonds that tingled about his wrist where he'd vowed himself to her. When nothing happened, he snarled. The little wretch had ignored his advice about remaining here, it seemed, and had likely returned to Selwyn Hall. Curling his lip in annoyance, Severus let himself right back out of Headquarters and disapparated to the house the Dark Lord had gifted to him for the sake of making the pair of them more powerful to conceive his vessel. The lights were all off when he landed in the snow outside the house, but he spied the footsteps leading toward the house, indicating she'd returned recently, herself.

Following the footprints across the front lawn, Severus let himself into the house and was surprised when no angry growl greeted him by the door. Lighting the tip of his wand, he noted that the cushion and blanket Granger had given Greyback were still by the door, but the werewolf was nowhere to be seen. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

" _Homenum revelio_ ," he muttered.

His wand tip popped with blue light once, indicating that only one person was in the house. To be sure it was Granger, Severus cast the  _Revelio_  charm over his bonds again, feeling a bitter sort of satisfaction that she was in the building. Stalking in the direction of the bedroom upstairs, Severus ignored the ungodly hour in favour of seeking out the wretched little bitch he'd married and wondering if she'd still be so interested in fucking him as the Death Eater when he was covered in the blood of innocent muggles and when he burned with such violent rage.

She was sleeping when he entered the bedroom. Tucked under the covers with her wild curls spread across the pillows, she looked so utterly innocent and the Darkness inside of him tingled with the unrelenting urge to corrupt her until she was as wicked as him.

As though feeling his eyes upon her or sensing his wicked intent, the girl's eyes suddenly shot open as he approached the bed and her wand was in her hand and trained on him dangerously before he could pounce on her. She flung the first hex, clearly not recognizing him in the dark and Severus returned fire gratefully.

Merlin, he'd kill for a decent duel!

She blocked the hex, scrambling to her feet and throwing three rapid-fire curses at him. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher within him was begrudgingly proud of her, and the Order member in him was quietly smug as he deflected the deadly curses. Oh, his witch knew how to fight. A blood boiling curse, a Reducto, and a wicked slicing curse bounced off his shield, any one of them fatal should they connect with him.

She never spoke, not bothering to waste her breath, and she dodged and blocked the hexes he fired in return. Severus smirked behind his mask, taking it just a little easy on her. She was his wife, after all, and at a disadvantage at being rudely wrenched from sleep. She leapt off the bed, intent on getting out of the bedroom and she clipped him with a Stinging jinx as she landed, light on her feet despite the ungodly hour. Severus snarled behind his mask, wondering if she knew yet that it was him.

If she did, she certainly didn't care, that much was evident when she flung a  _Sectumsempra_  at him, risking cleaving him in two.

"You dare use my own spells against me?" He growled, hitting her with a burning curse that drew a ragged gasp of agony from her lips.

Merlin, it was a sound he'd revel in hearing over and over!

"You dare attack me while I slept?" She hissed in return. "Too cowardly to face me when I'm fully alert, are you?"

Severus saw red in a heartbeat, never having liked being called a coward. He flung five hexes at her in quick succession, packing every ounce of venom into each one.

She blocked the first, and he clipped her elbow with the second. The third connected solidly with her chest, sending her stumbling. The fourth and fifth threatened to overwhelm her and end her life and only his lunge in her direction kept her from flying across the room and slamming into the wall. She tried to draw breath even as she struggled feebly when he plucked her wand from her grip, pocketed it along with his own, and dragged her body up the length of his.

"Get off me, you bastard," she snarled into his face, clawing at his robes and then at his mask.

She screamed when the hex on his mask permeated her flesh as she touched it, and Severus laughed cruelly.

"I warned you never to touch it, Miss Granger," he sneered, clutching her tightly against his body and the throbbing erection inside his robes as she writhed in agony.

Merlin, she was glorious when she writhed, he smirked, anchoring her against him with one arm and reaching to pry his mask from his face, flinging the bloodstained thing carelessly across the room and onto the bed. She shuddered against him when he pulled her closer, nuzzling his face into her neck and biting her sharply. Granger whimpered when he ground her body against his, using his superior strength and height to propel her across the room before he shoved her up against the wall. One hand slid down the back of her bare thigh, curling her leg up around his hip and he smirked against her skin when she viciously knotted her hands in his hair, pulling it like she hated him.

Fuck, maybe she did.

She'd be better off if she did. Biting her neck again, Severus ground his throbbing cock against all the heat emanating from between her legs, clutching her tightly enough to leave bruises and grating her backbone against the unforgiving wood of the bedroom wall. She hissed at the sensation, burrowing her face against his neck and biting him in return. Severus would've cursed at the strength of her jaw and the sharpness of her teeth had she not chosen that moment to buck against him in return, making him want to bury his cock so deep inside her, he might never be free.

Fuck, after the vows they'd sworn, he never  _would_  be free. Not while they both still drew breath. Pinning her to the wall with his body, Severus released his hold on her to tear open his trousers, intent on fucking the vicious little savage until the burning in his chest and the throbbing in his cock stopped aching. She writhed when he snatched aside her knickers, not bothering to wrench them down when he could just move them out of his way.

She shuddered when he drove two fingers deep inside of her, finding her wet and ready for him. Grunting in pleasure that he wouldn't need to bother with stimulating her through foreplay, Severus withdrew his fingers, lined up his cock, and slammed it inside of her brutally.

Granger whimpered against his lips when he followed the invasion with the crash of his lips against her, intent on snogging her stupid as he hadn't snogged a witch in more than twenty years before she'd come along and upset all of his plans with her wicked blow-job in that classroom so many weeks ago. Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred, she felt like fucking heaven! Groaning against her lips, Severus took her hard, slamming into her again and again.

He swallowed every whimper she emitted and gripped her so tightly she was sure to be bruised. She didn't complain, her fingers knotted in his hair, pulling it harshly as she rocked herself on his cock. Peeling her off the wall, Severus carried her the short distance to the bed, throwing her down on it and watching the way her eyes flashed in the dark when she landed sprawled and needy. He smirked cruelly, noting the way her eyes traced over him even as he shrugged off his robes, yanking the blood stained garments from his body before reaching for her.

Severus kind of liked it when she tried to kick him as he latched onto the backs of her knees, dragging her across the bed intent on fucking her until the burning inside him fizzled out. She huffed in annoyance when he kept his grip on her, flipping her to her stomach and dragging her up by the hips before aligning his cock with her slit and driving deep once more. She groaned under him, her elbows quaking with the power of his thrusts as he took her hard.

"Fucking hell, I'm gonna…" she squealed after a short time and Severus laughed cruelly, backing off just far enough to drag it out. He reveled in the way she rocked back, seeking more friction, desperate for his cock.

When he drove in deep once more, she mewled like a kitten, the sound abruptly cut off when he seized hold of her throat, dragging her up until she knelt. He used the tight grip on her to turn her head, grinding in her and humming just a little at the way her body clamped tightly, winding up like a coil just waiting to spring free. She was breathing hard, her eyes slanted in his direction when he peered over her shoulder before he leaned in, snatching another kiss from her lips and loathing the way snogging her felt so fucking good.

Merlin's cunt, he hadn't snogged a witch in so long because he  _knew_  it was a recipe for disaster. Snogging let in the emotions, his mother had always told him. The last thing he needed was to be afflicted with any additional strong emotions where this witch was concerned, but the magic of their freshly spoken vows coursed through him, pushing him to claim every inch of her for himself.

"Please," she begged oh so sweetly when he dragged his lips from hers, desperate for air.

"Please, what?" Severus sneered, the sweet sound of her begging like a balm to his soul.

"Please let me come," she whispered breathlessly, and Severus laughed, trailing his hand from her neck to slide it over her chest and between the valley of her breasts. Her belly was taut and flat, the muscle there shifting under his hand thanks to the way he had her pulled tighter than a bowstring.

When he slipped his hands down to cup her sex, she sobbed, and when his fingers found her clit, she jerked in his arms, her pussy clamping so tight around him that Severus saw stars.

"Fuck," he muttered against her lips, swirling his fingers over her clit and pecking her lips just before she emitted a low, keening mewl as the fire inside of her exploded into an inferno of endorphins and sensations.

She almost pulled him over when she rolled her hips, riding the lightning, and Severus hissed, withdrawing before snapping his hips and driving into her as hard as he could. She grunted, groaning at the added friction, and Severus chased his own release, desperate to unleash this firestorm so that he might find some fucking peace, even if only for a few minutes.

When it crested, Severus's breath grew ragged, his toes curling into the soft carpet and his nails biting into her flesh unforgivingly. Fucking flibbertigibbets, he was going to lose it. Snapping his hips faster, driving into her deeper, and harder, Severus grunted when the fire licked up the back of his throat, tightening in his balls and racing down his spine. When he came, it was with a guttural shout, driving himself so deep inside his witch, it was a wonder he didn't spear all the way through her petite frame.

She slumped to her hands and knees before sinking to sprawl on her belly in the middle of the bed when Severus released her, and he narrowed his eyes on her back hatefully as he stared down at her. Turning away with a wretched curse, Severus slinked to the bathroom, running the taps and stepping under the spray despite the icy temperature of the water before it began to heat. The shower floor was stained pink as the blood washed from his flesh and Severus scrubbed it off angrily, curling his lip hatefully at the sight.

Granger made no attempt to invade his shower this time, nor any attempt to speak to him. Severus didn't blame her, and in fact he was grateful, in no mood to listen to her asking where he'd been, what he'd done, or who he'd killed. As soon as he was clean, Severus exited the shower, scrubbing his skin dry with a towel thanks to leaving his wand in the bedroom.

When he returned, the witch had slithered across the bed to curl on 'her' side, and Severus made no attempt to dress himself before crossing to the bed and sliding in on the other side. She didn't speak to him, though from the way her mind was whirring, he knew she wasn't asleep. Curling his lip in annoyance and wondering how it had come to be that this ridiculous little know-it-all had ended up his wife, Severus glared at the ceiling.

He was still angry, unsure of what to say to her. Unsure of how or even if he should inform her of the Dark Lord's plans. Part of him knew that he would need to, in order to more effectively get her pregnant and keep her that way. But perhaps it could wait until after the contraceptive wore off. Why begin allowing her to distance herself from him now when he had three more months to enjoy before the Dark Lord would begin demanding to know what was taking him so long to impregnate the witch?

"You were supposed to remain and Grimmauld Place," Severus said eventually, speaking to the dark though he knew she was still awake.

"I needed to collect my things," Hermione replied quietly, and Severus was surprised that she didn't sound angry at him. "If I'm to remain there for the rest of the Christmas holidays, I will need to take Crookshanks and my trunk back there with me."

"Were they cruel when you arrived?" Severus inquired, wondering if Potter had gotten over his tantrum yet.

"Yes," the girl answered. "Some of them. Harry, especially. Ron was supportive and helped me up the stairs to take the pain relief potion you gave me. I spoke briefly with Remus as well, hoping he might talk some sense into Harry about all this. After that I went to bed and didn't return here until a few hours before dawn."

"Greyback was waiting for you?" Severus asked warily.

"Yes," the girl replied. "We had a midnight snack together."

"He bit you?" Severus asked, alarmed and sitting bolt upright in bed.

"No," the witch said, chuckling softly before reaching for his shoulder. Severus flinched away from the touch, but she persisted, reaching for him again and smoothing an almost soothing hand over the middle of his back. If she could feel the scars there, she didn't let on. "He didn't bite me. Of course, he didn't. I mean he was waiting, and I slept through dinner at Headquarters, so I fixed myself something to eat in the kitchen, and he was there, so I made something for him, too."

"He's not here now," Severus informed her.

"No, I suppose he had other things to go and see to," the witch said quietly, and Severus didn't like the knowing lilt in Hermione's voice that hinted at knowing exactly where the werewolf had gone.

Curling his lip, he let her loop her arm around his chest and pull him down until he was stretched on his back, once more. He was surprised when she shuffled across the bed burrowing into his side and curling his arm around her body before laying her cheek on his chest. He didn't know what to make of the casual way she touched him, even after he'd been so cruel to her, and Severus snorted, shaking his head derisively, wondering – rather uncharitably – if she was perhaps not as smart as he and the rest of the world had been led to believe.

"Are you injured?" he asked finally, slowly letting some of the tension drain out of his muscles.

"Those hexes you hit me with weren't very pleasant," she admitted. "I have a burn on my shoulder."

" _Accio,_ burn salve," Severus muttered, listening to the rattle of the jar against the bathroom floor before it whizzed out of the pocket of his robes and flew into his hand.

She took it from him before he could offer to treat the burn for her, unscrewing the lid before setting the jar down on the middle of his chest and smearing it over his injured shoulder liberally.

"Are you injured, Snape?" she asked when she'd replaced the lid, tossing the jar of salve across him to land it on his bedside table.

"No," he grunted, glancing down to squint at the top of her head while she nestled her cheek into the hollow of his shoulder as though he hadn't just hexed her and then brutalized her within an inch of her life.

"Good," she murmured.

"You need to return to Headquarters in the morning," he informed her. "You will not be safe here."

She nodded absently.

"Before I do, you said you'd have to check over all the gifts everyone dropped off today to make sure none of them are cursed," she reminded him. "I need to take all the parcels for everyone at Headquarters with me tomorrow, too. Will you come with me?"

Severus raised his eyebrows in the dark at the softly spoken request.

"You don't wish to face the full force of their questioning alone?" he asked, frowning, assuming that she must be in hope of back-up and someone to hide behind while they Order unleashed their venom.

"I don't care about their questioning," she sighed, and Severus almost rolled his eyes before she continued speaking. "I just don't like being away from you. These bonds are interfering with my emotions, it seems."

"It will fade with time," he told her quietly. "It is only the result of the fresh union that makes things so sensitive."

She nodded.

"Do you have to go back to the Death Eaters when we wake?" she asked, sounding resigned, like she knew it would be so.

"Not for a few hours," Severus allowed, finding that he'd really rather stay there in bed with the witch than to return to the Dark Lord's side when he'd very much revel in ending the evil wizard with a slash of his wand.

"I… I know it's probably not really something you'd be interested in, Severus," Hermione began hesitantly. "But… do you think we could…. Well, you'll probably just think me a silly, idealistic girl…"

Severus's lips twitched, listening to her fuss, expecting he  _would_  think her foolish for whatever request she intended to make of him. He found that, even knowing it might make him sneer in derision, he still wanted to hear it.

"Do I think we could  _what_ , Miss Granger?" he asked, pushing an encouraging lilt into his tone.

She sighed, snuggling her cheek against his chest for a long moment before answering.

"Do you think it would be alright if I just… spent the day with you, tomorrow?" she asked finally. "We don't have to do anything. You don't even have to talk to me, if you don't want to. I just… well, we barely know each other, it seems, and now we're married and I'm sure thing will only get more complicated as the war progresses and… I'm worried, I suppose. Your wagon has just been hitched to mine, and it's not like you have an easy role in this war, and while I doubt Harry will ever really forgive me for shagging you in the first place, I expect there will come a time when I need to go into hiding alongside him for the sake of his safety as we work to destroy the Dark Lord… and I just…. I think it might one day be vitally important – at least to me – to have something nice to hold onto. A sweet memory of doing something terribly domestic with my husband."

Severus raised his eyebrows, something deep inside him squirming the faintest bit at what she was implying. Yes. He knew there might very well come a time when she would need to go with Potter to hunt down the remaining Horcruxes, and he knew that he most likely would  _not_ survive the upcoming battles. The things he still needed to do, including fulfilling his vow to Albus to put him out of his misery, would drive a terrible wedge between himself and the petite witch snuggled into his arms like she belonged there.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked warily.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I just… I'd really like to spend time in your presence, and I'm sure it's these silly bonds linking the two of us, and that you'll grow impatient with me. Maybe we could get around to opening those gifts everyone sent us for Christmas, since we didn't get to do it today? Or we could read? Or just stay here in bed where it's warm and safe, and the rest of the world is locked outside. Or I could teach you to play cards? If you don't already know how to play? I suppose I just want to get to know you, Severus. The real you. Not the teacher. Not the Death Eater. Not the spy. I want to know who you are when no one else is watching and no one else is demanding something of you. Do you pad around the house in socks, or bare feet? Do you hum to yourself sometimes, when you're distracted? Do you drum your fingers on the table? Tap your foot? Fiddle with your lower lip, or your earlobe, or maybe twist your fingers distractedly? When you want to read for the simple pleasure of a good book, what genre do you reach for? Romance? Fluff? Adventure? Crime? Murder mystery?"

Severus shook his head slowly from side to side, finding that he rather wished there was more light in the room so that he could see the face of the innocent little angel she was proving to be. It seemed so discombobulating to have spent so many hours engaging in acts of torture and murder and darkness, only to come home to a pretty little witch who caught his bad mood and took it so well before asking how he conducted himself when he was alone. Didn't she understand yet that all he had, all he  _was_ , was a reprehensible Death Eater? Didn't she understand that he was  _always_  this wretched? This angry? This cruel? Didn't she know he hadn't read for the simple joy of reading since he'd been a teenager? Didn't she understand that he would never be caught wandering about the house barefoot when he might be called on at any given moment by the Dark Lord, the Brethren, Albus, or his fellow teachers to handle some minor emergency that simply couldn't he managed without him?

Didn't she know he hadn't had a decent night's sleep until last night, with her body spooned around his own after fucking so very much of the poison out of himself and into her? Didn't she know he was this wretched by nature? How could she still be so innocent – so naïve – as to think there was more to his character than his wretched darkness.

"Miss Granger?" Severus asked quietly, knowing he ought not to crush that innocence out of her just yet, but also knowing that she couldn't be  _that_  innocent.

"Yes?" she asked, sounding wary as though she knew she'd grown too excited about the idea of a mundane version of him.

"I've never padded about the house in my socks," he confessed quietly. "I haven't read anything for the sake of pleasure since I was a boy. I do not fidget. I do not hum. I do not conduct myself any different in private to the way I conduct myself in public."

"No?" she asked, turning her head to look at him.

"I have too many facets to display dependent upon my audience," he said quietly. "Do you imagine I have room for one more? That I would allow myself the luxury of imaging myself to be anything other than a cruel, black-hearted, ruthless bastard? Do you suppose that in private I secretly pet kittens and hum Christmas carols?"

She sighed.

"I expect that in private you don't know what to do with yourself, Snape," she replied quietly. "I imagine, after the amount of effort and time put into projecting each facet of your personality to the correct people, you're utterly exhausted when you have a bit of time to yourself."

Severus's left eye twitched, wondering how she might've known that little fact.

"I rarely have a minute to myself," he confessed quietly.

"Would you consider spending time with me to be having time to yourself?" she asked curiously. "After all, I have seen the teacher, the Death Eater, and the Order spy. I know you are all of them mixed together and none of them, wholly, at the same time. I… well, it sounds facetious… but I would like it if you were able to feel… safe… with me. I'm your wife, after all."

"By command, not by choice," he reminded her bitterly.

"I'll have you know that it was my  _choice_  to heal you that night in the Potions classroom, Snape," she replied, sitting up and turning to squint at him through the dimly lit bedroom as the sun began its ascent across the sky. "It was my  _choice_  to loiter in your storerooms awaiting your return the second night. It was my  _choice_  to invade your office and demand answers. And as you said to Remus, we each had other options last night besides being wed. We could have killed all the Death Eaters, or run away, or chosen to die. And yet here we are. Married."

Severus snorted, rolling his eyes though he doubted she could see the expression.

"Granger, it would be a grave error on your behalf to imagine that this  _mess_  between us might be resolved with a game of twenty-questions and a little get-to-know-you period. It would be a mistake to assume that anything that transpired between us before last night was of any consequence. I do not delude myself into imagining you fancied me, and I would hope you are smart enough to know I did not and do not fancy you. This marriage is by command of the Dark Lord for his own gains, and it will be terminated just as soon as I die in the effort of ending this wretched war. Do not delude yourself into thinking there will ever come a time when you and I play happy little families sitting down to quiet dinners, tucking children into bed before retiring ourselves, or indulging in lazy days spent simply enjoying the company of one another.

"That is  _not_  in my future, and I'm sorry for the ways you will suffer before you can be free of me to seek someone more suitable as your husband. To imagine that there is anything in  _our_  future other misery is foolish naivety and will only see you disappointed. You are my student. Fifty years of marriage will never change the fact that I broke one of my very few moral codes and fucked you in a moment of weakness despite the fact that I am an educator and you are a child who is  _supposed_  to be safe beneath my care. This marriage will  _not_  be enjoyable, Granger. You will not get to smile across a dining table at me at the end of a long work day. Our meals are taken in a large hall where I sit at the High table for members of faculty and you sit among the dunderheaded masses of students. There will be no invading one another's showers for an early morning romp; no catching each other's bad moods at the end of a bad day before falling into bed, exhausted but unburdened simply knowing someone else is there; no happy fucking marriage the likes of which your own parents, or the Weasley's have deluded you into believing is possible. Ours is a marriage of inconvenience. It will be short lived, and if by some fucking  _abomination_  I manage to escape the awaiting embrace of Death at this war's end, the remainder of my life will be spent rotting in a prison cell to atone for the lives I have taken, the crimes I have committed, and the atrocious things I have done. So, you had better  _pray_ , little girl, that I die soon. Else you will live a lonely, empty life with a husband who cannot stand himself, let alone you or anyone else."

Severus turned away, rolling to his side and presenting his back to her, expecting that she might begin to cry at such harsh truths. For a long time, he laid there, listening to the sound of her breathing and uncomfortably aware of the fact that she hadn't moved a single muscle.

"Do you know something,  _Professor_?" she spoke after what seemed like hours, her voice filled with righteous anger, her tone positively brimming with the type of bitterness that so often laced his words.

"For six years, I have known you. For six years, I have listened to you cutting me to the quick, belittling me, discouraging me, and trying everything you can to dishearten me from being intellectually minded and proud of that fact. Do you truly imagine there is  _anything_  you can say that will dissuade me from seeking your approval now? For better or worse, the rest of my life will be spent with you. Fifty years won't change how you see me as nothing but a student and a mistake you regret making? Let's try sixty. Let's try seventy. I've got time. You're betting on dying, Severus Snape, and I'm telling you now that the only way you're dying is  _over my dead body_! So, go ahead. Push me away. Try to scare me by coming home covered in blood and reeking of death and brimming with violence and a rage so potent that I can taste on spreading like poison across my tongue. Taunt me with what a horrible bastard you can be and sneer until you're blue in the face about how you'll never fancy me, never care about me, never love me or respect me as I deserve. Tell me again what a pathetic, foolish  _little girl_  I must surely be to ever have looked sideways at you, let alone chosen to marry you. I  _vowed_  to love you even when you're hateful, and though I don't love you yet, I expect I could, in time. But know that for every blow you strike, I will strike one of my own. One of determination to keep you sane and alive and  _mine_  until the day  _I_ die. There will be no reprieve for you, unless it's in my arms. There will be no escape for you in Death. There will be wallowing in your darkness until you go mad. There will be me. Every day. Right here. In your bed and in your face and reminding you how to be fucking human. Even if it takes the next hundred years, you're going to learn that I'm  _not_  just some idealistic little girl, and I'm not the cross you've got to grin and bear. I'm your fucking wife! I'm the  _only_  family you've got and I'm the only one in your corner even knowing what I know and seeing what I've seen. The sooner your realize that, they happier we both shall be!"

Severus rolled back toward her, intent on unleashing the venom within his soul upon the girl, but before he could utter a word she was out of the bed and across the room, snatching a dressing gown from where she'd hung it on the back of the door. When the left the room, she slammed the bedroom door behind her so loudly that it echoed through every room in the house and reverberated through his bones, making him want to storm after her.

Shaking his head and palming his wand, Severus through seriously about following her, about pushing her to violence and unleashing more of his foul temper upon her. About ensuring she would forget her ideals about being a good fucking wife when she was the last thing he wanted.

Fuck, right now she was the  _only_  thing he wanted, but Merlin's fucking armpits, he wasn't going to admit that and he certainly wasn't going to act on it. Snarling under his breath and glaring out the window at the rising sun, Severus threw his wand back down on the mattress and ran an angry hand through his greasy hair.

Mordred's fucking dogs, the witch would be the death of him if the Dark Lord didn't kill him, first. The gall of that fucking swot! She was a  _child_! An idealistic, optimistic, fucking child and he  _knew_  that she'd meant every word of what she'd said. She  _was_  a determined little chit. Six years of teaching her had taught Severus that if there was one thing about Hermione Granger that could not be truer was that she was as stubborn as a fucking mule. He didn't doubt she would go out of her way to learn everything about him and to try and win his trust, and keep him alive, and maybe even win his heart. She would push him until he wanted to strangle her, because she already fucking did in every single one of his lessons when she submitted, time and time again, essay that were getting closer and closer to the despicably elevate height he measured her to.

She wasn't going to give up.

At least, not until she found out he intended to fuck their son into her and then sacrifice it to the Dark Lord on the orders of a fucking psychopath. Then, perhaps, she would give up on him and call him a wretch fucking cunt with no heart and no soul, and not fucking sense, either.

No, he wouldn't go after her. No matter how badly he wanted to shout at her and to rip her to shreds for daring to speak to him as she'd done, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. He wouldn't even bother. Three months from now she would learn to hate him, and that would be fine. Snarling and rolling to his stomach, Severus buried his face in his pillow and growled out every oath and every cuss-word he knew before surrendering to a fitful sleep wrought with nightmares.


	28. Chapter 28

Harry Potter groaned softly as he stretched, his body encountering the soft warmth of someone lying beside him. Blinking open his eyes, he was momentarily surprised to find that it was Ginny, rather than Ron, before the previous evening's activities came flooding back to him.

Right.

Ginny. He's shagged his best mate's sister. And fucking Merlin, it'd been good. He'd wanted her all bloody year, and he'd finally had her. But as he watched her sleep for a moment, the smile on his face from their fun faded when he recalled the reason she'd started snogging him in the first place. To distract him and keep him from charging up the stairs and telling Hermione off for being a fucking hypocrite and for  _marrying_  Snape. Curling his lip to himself, he tried to put it out of his mind.

He tried to remind himself of the lecture Remus had given him about how much of what had transpired wasn't Hermione's fault, and how both she and Snape were making sacrifices to the war effort that he couldn't possibly begin to comprehend. He tried not to think about the burning rage that throbbed inside his skull to know that Hermoine – fucking  _Hermione_  – had been the one to betray him.

He simply didn't understand it. What could she possibly see in that greasy fucking git? How could she ever have been attracted to him so much as to shag him in the first place? Hell, he'd thought she was a virgin, like he'd been until last night. He'd thought she was chaste, and that she was a bit of a prude, actually. He'd thought she'd one day figure out that she and Ron were perfect for each other and in his dizziest daydreams he'd imagined a future where Ginny was his wife, and Hermione was Ron's, and they'd all have children and live out their lives as the very best of friends.

He'd never imagined she'd turn out to be a teacher fucking little tramp. He'd never envision Professor Snape being a part of their futures. He simply didn't understand, and if he was being honest, he knew he owed it to her to at least hear her explanation.

But not now.

He was still too angry. He'd only shout at her again.

Focusing his gaze back on the fiery little red head curled in his arms, Harry wondered how she'd take to being woken to the feel of him sinking his cock inside her once more. Because  _that_  had been the best Harry Potter had felt in a  _long_  time. He wanted to feel that again. Sliding his hand from where it was splayed over her bare stomach to curl down and between her legs, Harry cupped her sex eagerly, feeling the way she subconsciously leaned into the touch, shifting one of her legs to better allow him to touch her.

Smirking to himself, Harry slipped a finger inside of her, enjoying the way her breath sped up, and pleased to find her wet. Maybe she was dreaming about him. Withdrawing his finger, Harry gripped his already-erect cock, stroking it a few times before he put his hand on Ginny's hip, tilting her body to better accommodate him before thrusting his cock deep inside her. He closed his eyes at the pleasure that assaulted his senses, loving the feel of how warm she was.

She tensed in his hold as he began rocking back and forth, taking her slowly as he worked her toward waking. When she moaned softly and canted her hips, pushing back against him before curling one arm back to tangling in his messy hair, Harry knew she was awake, and that she was loving every minute of this, just like he was.

"Good morning," he murmured, curling around her protectively as he continued rocking into her slow and deep. He pressed his lips to her ear, liking the way she tilted her head.

"Gods, Harry," Ginny breathed. "You know how to wake a witch up right."

Harry chuckled, driving into her a little harder when she clamped around him rhythmically, clearly trying to increase his pace. Only too willing to bury his dark thoughts between her legs, Harry rolled the two of them until she rested on her stomach on the mattress with her bum poking up before he positioned himself over her, driving into her harder. He'd learned last night that his witch liked it hard. She liked to play rough. Harry was grateful for that, because right now he didn't think he could do anything  _but_  get rough with her.

She moaned softly as he took her harder, his anger building alongside the impending need to come, but if Ginny minded it certainly didn't show. She arched under him, muffling her moans with the pillows to keep from alerting the other members of the Order, and particularly her family, to their activities. The last thing Harry needed was Ron bursting in on Harry shagging Ginny and blackening his other eye. He'd been punched by his best friend more than he cared of late and as he ground into Ginny even harder, Harry couldn't help thinking that that was all Hermione's fault, too.

When he came, it was with a furious hiss in what he suspected was Parseltongue if the way Ginny tensed under him was anything to go by.

"Did you…" Harry began, frowning at the back of Ginny's head.

"Um… Yeah… I mean, of course I did," Ginny stammered, breathing hard, her body still clamped tightly around Harry's and feeling not at all like it'd done last night.

"Bollocks," Harry disagreed with her and she froze before turning very slowly to look at him.

"I did…" she argued.

Harry narrowed his eyes on her when he met her gaze.

"Don't lie to me, Ginny," he warned her quietly. "I've had enough of being lied to by the people I care about."

Ginny's cheeks turned pink, though whether that was with embarrassment at being caught lying, or with happiness to hear him say he cared about her, Harry really couldn't tell.

"Ok, fine," she sighed. "So, I didn't quite get there, but I mean, it's no big…. What are you doing?"

She raised her eyebrows at him when Harry rolled off her before using his hand to guide her onto her side, pressing her back against the wall as he balanced precariously on the side of the bed. Determined to do a good job and to not bungle this part of his life up, at the very least, he slid his hand down over her hips and along the length of her thigh, catching the back of her knee and looping it up over his hip. She squeaked when he burrowed his hand between the two of them, his fingers tracing over her freckled skin adoringly.

"You'll get all sticky," she warned him, frowning a little even as he leaned toward her, intent on claiming her lips for a kiss.

"I don't care," Harry murmured against her lips as he speared two fingers deep inside all the slick heat at her core.

Ginny arched her back, her hand sliding into his hair and holding him to her tightly as she snogged him hard while he fingered her.

"Curl them the other way," she muttered against his lips after he fumbled a little, not entirely sure what the hell he was doing, but eager to learn.

"Like this?" he frowned, leaning back a little to try and see.

"Like this," she showed him, beckoning with two of her fingers in a sort of come-hither motion that Harry found alarmingly attached to a memory of Aunt Petunia beckoning him when he was in trouble for something.

"Right," he muttered, imitating the action and closing his eyes to block out the memory, intent on replacing it with one of Ginny riding his fingers like she loved him.

And she did.

She rocked her hips and her mewls grew higher and higher pitched as he took his sweet time learning her body, heedless of the mess he'd made between her thighs that was leaking out to coat his hand and stain the sheets.

"Oh, god, Harry," she muttered when Harry scooted down the bed far enough to take her nipple into his mouth while he tormented her. "Gods, I love you."

Harry smirked against her skin.

She'd said the same thing last night in the midst of her orgasm, and Harry didn't know if she meant it in the sense of loving him for the cranky git he was, or if she just loved him in the moments he brought her pleasure, but he liked hearing it and reckoned that if she said it often enough during their dalliances, she might start to think it even when she wasn't naked in his embrace. And Harry was thinking he wanted that. Even knowing he was the Chosen One doomed to fight Voldemort and probably lose, Harry wanted Ginny to love him. Merlin, he wanted to spend his life with her, and he knew he shouldn't because it might not be a very long life and he didn't want to have her fall for him only to be left alone when Voldemort killed him, or to become a target for the Death Eaters to focus on as they sought to lure him to the Dark Lord's presence and his doom.

Morgana knew that the last thing Harry wanted was for anymore of the people he loved to die for him, and now with Hermione directly in the Dark Lord's presence and central to his plans, he knew he was in danger of losing her for good. He didn't want to risk losing Ginny, too. But wouldn't it be worse to die in short order and be left wandering the afterlife moping about never having bloody lived? It was how he'd ended up bedding the witch in the first place. Hermione's taunt about knowing nothing of sex and intimacy had burrowed into his brain and Harry didn't know what to do, as he watched the pretty little redhead orgasm upon his fingers, about the fact that in that very moment, he found himself thinking that she'd be fucking beautiful as the mother of his children.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Ron Weasley growled to himself when he woke up and found Harry Potter missing from the bed opposite his. Harry hadn't come to bed at all last night, it seemed, and Ron had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew just where the other wizard was.

Screwing Ginny.

Perfect. Just what he needed. The love of his life was screwing a Death Eater and married to a greasy git, and now his best mate was screwing his sister. And there he was, like a fucking ponce, with no one.

Well… not no one.

He had Lavender. But Lavender was fucking tiring. She was whiny and cling and so fucking barmy that he reckoned she literally had a screw loose upstairs. He should ditch her. Hell, he should've ditched her after the first time he'd snogged her and she tried to suck his face off. He should never have let Hermione go, but as usual he was fucking thick and now he had no one decent, and Hermione was stuck with Snape and Harry, the git, was shagging Ginny.

What a fucked up Christmas he was having.

Throwing off the covers and not bothering to find a shirt, Ron flung open the bedroom door and stomped up the stairs, intent on burrowing in next to his favourite witch and holding her for a few more hours of sleep in the hopes that when he next woke, she might talk him down from wringing Harry's neck about Ginny.

His mood darkened considerably when he reached the room Remus had tucked her into – the room Remus had informed him Snape used on the very rare occasion when he stayed at Hogwarts – and found it empty. He crossed it quickly, but the covers were cold, the bed unmade, and the witch he wanted to hold nowhere to be found.

"Probably went back to Selwyn fucking Hall," Ron muttered, doubting very much that Hermione would've braved the kitchen and his mother's persistent pestering alone so early in the morning when she'd had such a rubbish night.

Snarling under his breath and stomping back down the stairs, Ron changed into some clothes for the day and tromped down to the kitchens. In no mood his mother's prying about Hermione, Ron let himself out of the house and raised his eyebrows when he was standing on the top step and spotted Remus sitting in the park across the street, sucking on a cigarette.

The werewolf looked over when Ron moved down the steps and across the road, guiltily trying to hide the fag before sighing out a lungful of smoke and offering the box to Ron to try one.

"Thanks," Ron grunted, taking one and using the tip of his wand to light it. He was no stranger to cigarettes, having smoked more than a few of them with Sirius and Remus when his Mum had been driving them all spare at Headquarters in the summer before fifth year.

"Couldn't sleep?" Remus asked finally after Ron had inhaled half the cigarette.

"Slept fine," Ron grumbled. "Harry didn't. Didn't even come to bed. Pretty sure he's shagging my sister."

Remus cringed, looking guilty, and Ron knew exactly where Harry was, knowing the werewolf's hearing would've picked up on exactly what Harry and Ginny had been up to all night.

"Yeah," Ron grunted. "You already know. Course you do. Suppose you know that Hermione's gone again, too?"

"I didn't know that," Remus admitted, sighing. "I expect she left during the night. Not that I blame her. I'd hardly want to face the firing squad today when I heard some of the things your mother was muttering in the kitchen last night and saw the judgmental looks Ginny and Harry were wearing."

"Ginny and Harry can fuck off," Ron grumbled. "Hermione's a big girl capable of making her own decisions. If she chose to shag Snape, that's her business and if that choice landed her in the married mess, well, that's her business too and their judgement is unwanted."

Remus slanted a glance at him, raising one eyebrow.

"Actually, you've taken this better than I thought you would, Ron," Remus said quietly. "When she came home, I was worried I'd need to step in to keep you from losing your temper with Hermione and saying something cruel."

"Why's that?" Ron wanted to know, inhaling another lungful of smoke.

"If I could pick up on Harry's extracurricular activities during the night, you know I picked up on all of yours with Hermione, too, yeah?" Remus said, raising both eyebrows before smirking.

"Right," Ron muttered. "Well, no one else knows so… uh… sit on that, yeah?"

Remus nodded.

"It's no one else's business. But you're taking it well that Hermione was shagging Severus – of all people – when just a few months ago she was shagging you."

"Shagged her even after she started shagging him," Ron sighed. "But sit on that, too, yeah? Not that Snape doesn't already bloody know, the Legilimency wielding git, but Lavender doesn't have a bloody clue, and I'd prefer to keep it that way."

"You're not put out with Hermione?" Remus asked.

Ron shrugged. "I reckon she's a bloody idiot for fancying the likes of Snape, but what can you do? She's a big girl, and she knows what she wants out of life."

"You don't think she'd find it with you?" Remus asked, seeming surprised.

"Sure, she would," Ron shrugged. "And maybe I hoped that when we both pulled out heads out of our arses in five or ten years, we'd figure out how to make the everyday interactions as easy as the sex, but it hasn't worked out that way. Nah, she needs someone like Snape. Actually, someone like you would've been better. Someone smart, but still good, you know? Snape's no good. Clever as a fucking sphinx, but evil to the core. You'd have been the better choice, and I told her as much. Hell, I think she even listened, a bit. Hadn't shagged him in weeks after those first few times."

"She told you all this?" Remus asked, seeming flattered by his proclamation that he'd have been a good partner for Hermione.

"She tells me everything, mate," Ron grinned.

"Everything?" Remus challenged.

"Everything," Ron nodded. "I knew she was fucking him. I knew she fancied him. I know she's fucking devastated to be married even though she had a dream or two about marrying the fucker. Hermione's got no secrets from me, 'cept for whatever she told you last night."

"Yes… that…" Remus heaved a sigh. "That's why I'm out here, unable to sleep and picking up all of Sirius's bad habits."

"That bad, eh?" Ron asked.

"Worse," Remus muttered. "She's going to need you in the coming months, Ron. She'll need me, too. She'll need all the support she can get. The things she's going to endure will be painful and bloody and downright ugly. No one should go through what she's got coming. And the last thing she needs is an obnoxious Harry Potter sneering and calling her a tart and making her feel two feet tall."

"Why?" Ron asked warily. "What's Snape going to do to her?"

"It's not Severus I'm worried about," Remus shook his head. "She's going to do this to herself, and all for the sake of the Order and Harry bloody Potter."

"What?" Ron asked, frowning at him.

"She swore me to secrecy."

"Yeah, but it's me, mate," Ron argued. "She only didn't tell me because she thinks I'll pop Snape in the mouth."

"You might," Remus said, shaking his head. "Though it's not his fault, either. The… bloody hell… As you know, the Dark Lord took some of Harry's blood in that graveyard when he was resurrected."

"To break Lily's blood magic, yeah," Ron nodded, and he caught the way Remus darted a look at him, clearly not realizing that he actually had a fucking brain and knew how to use it when it suited him.

Always the tone of surprise with these people.

"Yes," Remus nodded. "Only, Harry's blood didn't just carry the blood-spell of Lily's. It also carried the Pack Bond passed from James to Harry, linking him as a member of my pack, to me."

Ron frowned. He'd read about pack-bonds in third year when Hermione had been rabidly research werewolves for Snape's assignment.

"Isn't there something about Pack Bonds that prevents pack-mates from killing one another unless they're the alpha?" Ron asked, dread beginning to knot in his stomach.

"There is," Remus nodded.

"Meaning Harry and Fuckface are bonded by the pack-magic and  _can't_  kill each other, even though they're fated to do so," Ron said, before drawing heavily on his cigarette. "Meaning that if he wants to kill Harry, old fuckface is going to need a new… Oh, FUCK NO!"

Ron leapt up off the bench from beside Remus, his blood boiling when he came to the conclusion of just what Hermione was going to do.

"Not  _my_  witch!" Ron snarled, his temper manifesting in a wild tornado right there in the park, whipping up snow and debris and flinging it all around.

"You have to bite her," Ron said, looking at Remus. "You need to infect her with lycanthropy, or to make her a part of your pack. Hermione will  _not_  bear a fucking kid to be sacrificed for that cunt!"

Remus's face was tight.

"I already offered her that, Ron," Remus shook his head sadly. "She refused. She means to go through with it. They were uncertain whether or not she and I were linked, and Voldemort had Alecto Carrow marry Antonin Dolohov as a back-up plan should Severus and Hermione prove ineffective in spawning the body he wants. But if Hermione isn't the one to bear the child, we have no control over when Voldemort gets a body, meaning we have no way of giving Harry as long as possible to prepare."

"Oh, that fucker!" Ron snarled. "That bloody git is in there fucking my sister and cursing my best friend, and even then, Hermione's going to rip out her own heart and offer up her firstborn son to save the ungrateful twat. I'll kill him! I'll kill him myself!"

Ron threw his cigarette down in the snow where is fizzled out, and made to stomp toward the house. Remus jumped down, dashing after him and latching both arms around Ron, lifting him right off his feet. Ron struggled against the werewolf futilely, cursing angrily and intent on murder.

"Easy, Ron," Remus muttered, mouth by his ear. "Easy, kid. Harry's a git, but we're not going to kill him. We'll find another way to sort this shit out."

"Yeah," Ron growled, "By destroying the fucking Horcruxes and slaughtering Voldemort ourselves, before they can do this to Hermione."

"He's linked to Harry," Remus argued. "Harry can't kill him until he gets a new body."

"Who the fuck said anything about Harry?" Ron growled. "If they're bonded because of a Pack bond to you, then you're their fucking Alpha and  _you_  can rip the cunt's throat out. Or I can hex the fucker dead. I don't care which. All I know is that Hermione won't survive someone sacrificing her kid. She won't even  _let_  herself get pregnant."

"She won't have a choice, Ron," Remus argued.

"If Snape thinks about forcing his fucking spawn into my witch, I'll kill that fucker, too. Get off me, I'm going to beat the living shit out of Harry for being such an ungrateful cunt, and then I'm going to find Hermione."

"You can't tell her I told you, Ron," Remus said. "She told me in confidence, and she expected me to keep that secret."

"Well, I bloody know now. I'd have figured it out anyway, the minute she got knocked up. Merlin, she's not knocked up already, is she?"

"Not yet," Remus shook his head.

"Then we kill him ourselves," Ron said. "You're a werewolf; curses bounce right off, and you can rip his throat out, right?"

"I could," Remus nodded. "But first we'd have to destroy the Horcruxes. We don't even know where they are. We don't know  _what_  they are."

"I'm betting on that fucking snake," Ron growled.

"And what else?" Remus demanded. "Even Dumbledore doesn't know."

"I'll bet he fucking does," Ron said darkly. "I'll be he's known for months about all this. Maybe even years. He's just been biding his time until Harry's ready to hear it. Well, Harry better get bloody ready, because he about to have his life blown wide open."

"We can't just ambush him with it, Ron," Remus protested.

"Remus, this is Hermione we're talking about!" Ron growled. "Sweet, logical, bookish Hermione. She belongs in a library with ink-stains on her fingers and the smell of old books lingering in her hair. Not sobbing on her knees with the bloodstains of her son's sacrifice marring her perfect skin. Do you  _know_  what the ritual for the sacrifice of a newborn as a vessel entails? Do you know what's demanded of the mother? She won't just have to give birth and sit quietly while they snatch the baby, Remus."

Remus suddenly went very pale, and Ron realized he hadn't thought of that.

"Merlin, it was bad enough knowing she planned to self-abort if she fell pregnant before Harry was ready but this…."

"She WHAT?" Ron shouted. "No way in fucking Tartarus is  _that_  happening. For fuck's sake, Remus!

Before Remus could respond, someone suddenly apparated directly into their presence, stepping out from behind a tree next to the park bench, and Ron's stomach turned over in horror. He knew that rugged face and those wild, yellow eyes. He recognized them from the wanted posters. From the way Remus suddenly tensed and turned in the man's direction with a furious and utterly wolfish snarl, Remus knew him by scent, alone.

"Well, well, what have we got here, eh?" Fenrir Greyback drawled, looking rather like he'd recently been in a fight if his fat lip and the cuts on his cheek and forehead were any indication.

"Greyback!" Remus snarled, advancing on him, wand in one hand while wicked two-inch claws sprouted from the nailbeds of the other.

Greyback's grin, when he flashed it, was tense and unsettling, but Ron couldn't help noticing that it most certainly did not look happy.

"Hey there, Pup," Greyback said quietly to Remus. "Need your help."

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Hermione hadn't slept another wink after her fight with Severus, having stormed away into the rest of the house and found herself in the library. Books were doing little to distract her, though she'd pulled every single book she could find about werewolves from the shelves. She paced up and down the length of the library in front of the fire, flipping through each one, determined to find an answer somewhere to everything she'd learned in the past few days.

Merlin, she needed sleep. She needed time to think. To digest all of this. But she didn't have time.

"What is this?" she muttered, midway through the intent to cast a book aside as useless when a passage caught her eye.

_"The offspring of a werewolf, when conceived between a lycanthrope and a muggle, passes on the gene to allow the infection of lycanthropy more freely into the bloodline. In such instances, a bite need not even be administered in order to activate the lycanthrope gene. Much like the manifestation of accidental magic in muggleborn, half-blood, and pureblood children, half-blood lycans can exhibit the signs of the curse as early as their toddler years, causing a shift in eye colour, bouts of irrational rage, and even the full transformation if pushed to dangerous enough extremes."_  Hermione read aloud. " _By comparison, those children conceived between one lycanthropic parent and one magical parent, are less likely to manifest the curse unless they are bitten. In such instances, the administering of powdered silver and dittany has been proven to strengthen the effects of the curse, allowing both the lycanthropic and human tendencies to war more freely within the afflicted individual. This directly opposes those werewolves who are bitten to induce the effects of the curse, but not given the powdered silver and dittany paste, who are by nature wilder and more wolfish, lacking the connection linking back to their humanity without making conscious effort to reach for it on a daily basis."_

Hermione blinked, frowning at the page. Greyback was right. The paste  _wasn't_  required to ensure the victim of a bite survived the curse. It was only administered to ensure the victim retained their humanity more easily.

"This is why Remus suffers so much," Hermione whispered to herself. "The introduction of the silver helps fight off the tendencies of the wolf and retains his humanity. Merlin's beard!"

Right at that moment, Severus Snape swept into the library on silent steps, startling Hermione so badly that she actually dropped the book she'd been reading. It landed on her foot and Hermione squealed in pained protest, ducking down to clutch the wounded appendage and muttering to herself about needing to get her husband a bloody bell just so that she'd hear him coming.

"What… is going on in here?" he demanded in that ridiculously silken voice of his and Hermione straightened, balancing on one leg and continuing to rub her pained foot. Without her slippers on, her feet were freezing and the pain throbbed tenfold as a result.

"I'm reading," Hermione said grumpily. "What do you want?"

Snape narrowed his eyes on her dangerously for her rudeness, but Hermione didn't pay him any mind, ducking back down to collect the book she'd dropped and adding it to the pile of useful books she'd come across, rather than tossing it on the much larger pile of utterly useless books she'd found.

"Miss Granger, it would behoove you to amend your attitude in my presence. No matter the ridiculousness of this Yule season, I am still your professor."

Hermione curled her lip at him grumpily.

"Well,  _professor,_ " she sneered coldly. "If you fuck me at Hogwarts the way you've been fucking me the past few days, I rather think the entire world will catch on to this  _ridiculousness_  and they'll sack you. Then you won't be my bloody professor and I'll talk to you however I bloody well like!"

Snape's expression blanked into that terrifying non-expression he'd perfected over the years that just invited his students to keep pushing his patience and really land themselves in trouble.

"I intended to make amends following my behavior last night, but if you are determined to be a stroppy little cow, I will return to the company of those people who actually understand basic manners," he sneered coldly when Hermione didn't rise to the bait and continue insulting him.

"And how did you mean to make amends for treating me like a good-for-nothing collection of holes to fuck and someone to take your temper out on before telling me that it would all work out alright because you're banking on  _dying_  before having to bother with getting along with me, Snape?" Hermione demanded hotly, still angry with him for the things he'd said and done during the night.

His eyes flashed dangerously at her for her tone, before he yanked his arm up, revealing that he was carrying a large sack of something. Hermione glared at the sack for a moment, before it occurred to her that it was probably a sack full of all the gifts that had been sitting under the Christmas tree in the living room.

"Do you mean to open them in here, or should we return to the living room?" Hermione asked, trying to rein in her temper and be civil.

Snape's eyes scanned over the tables within their library, seeming to decide that it would be unwise to open potentially cursed gifts in such a place. Hermione suspected that the large stacks of books she'd pulled off the shelves factored into his decision to spin on his heels and stalk right back out of the room. Flicking her eyes over her pile of books, Hermione followed after him in silence, letting him lead the way down the hall and back into the living room. She was pleased to see that the elves were on top of the cleaning, since it looked like it hadn't been used in weeks, let alone entertained almost twenty people just the day before.

"I gathered all of them," he informed her, moving over to take a seat on the couch and flicking his wand at the sack to begin unpacking all of their combined gifts onto the floor at his feet.

"Shall we sort them out between what was given to us by the Death Eaters or the Order?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows at him when she'd moved over to sit on the other end of the couch to him, peering down at the rather large stack of gifts at their feet.

"You imagine the Order will be less likely to send either of us something unfriendly?" he asked.

"Well, yes," Hermione said. "Excluding the twins, obviously. But they tend not to mess with me, so I'm not too worried. It's Bellatrix, mainly, that I'm concerned about. She seems the only one likely to break etiquette for the sake of trying to murder me."

Snape's mouth twitched. "You underestimate the brethren's habit of testing and taunting each other, ensuring we're all on our toes," he informed her. "Go ahead and open your gifts from the Order and your family while I check the others for curses and hexes."

Hermione nodded, sighing as she opened her gifts a day late. She honestly didn't care about material things, so while it was nice to have been given an ungodly amount of books to add to her personal collection, in addition to a new Weasley sweater and some other useful items – including a wicked looking little dagger from Tonks – she didn't have all that much enthusiasm for the task. She couldn't. Not now. Not knowing that in short order her body would be violated, and her soul tainted forever.

"You are angry," Snape noted quietly after a time when Hermione unwrapped all of her gifts with a sense of obligation rather than joy.

"As are you," Hermione said just as quietly.

"Your temper is directed at me?" Snape confirmed.

Hermione looked over at the man, studying him for a long moment in silence while he passed his wand over one of her gifts – from Dolohov, she noted – and discovering that it'd been cursed.

She couldn't decide if she was angry at him. Oh, she was annoyed about how he'd treated her and what he'd said during the night, and she was angry that he hadn't told her what he knew of the Dark Lord's plans to harvest their child. But she wasn't  _just_  angry about those things.

"I'm angry at our situation," she said finally. "I'm angry with the Dark Lord for existing, and for forcing us into this mess. I'm angry with Harry and the other members of the Order who are making this more difficult. I'm angry with Malfoy, for luring me into Dolohov's clutches, and with Dolohov for snatching me in the first place. I'm angry for letting myself be snatched. And a little angry with myself for getting mixed up with you in the first place, if I'm being completely honest. It's entirely my own fault that I'm sitting here, married to you though it's obviously the very last thing you wanted."

She shrugged her shoulders, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through her hair.

"You regret staying that night in the classroom, then?" he asked, and Hermione sighed.

"No," she admitted sadly. "And I think that's what makes me angriest of all. I should  _hate_  you. I should hate myself and hate you for disregarding the propriety of the teacher/student relationship. I never should've stayed, and you never should've let me. But I'm a fucking fool, and I stayed and even  _knowing_ it's led to this bloody mess, I'd probably do it all over again. I  _wanted_  to be there that night and I wanted to stay the second night and await your return. And I wanted to bloody shag you in your office those other times before Harry interrupted and I had to run for the train."

He lifted his eyes from the object he was attempting to break the curse upon, staring at her in surprise and Hermione sighed, her cheeks warming under the directness of his gaze. It was as close as she'd come to admitting that she'd had a silly, schoolgirl crush on him for months and from the look on his face, he was rather shocked by the very idea.

"Why?" he asked, seeming genuinely baffled. "You  _know_  I'm not a nice man, Miss Granger."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe I'm not as clever as I've led everyone to believe."

"I've been saying that for years," he informed her dryly and despite the insult, Hermione laughed.

"You have," she agreed, chuckling softly. "Perhaps that's why."

Snape frowned at her. "You  _like_  it when I'm mean to you?" he asked, obviously thinking she was more than a little thick.

"I like that you're brutally honest about your opinions, particularly in relation to my academic pursuits. I like doing well, and I like getting good grades, but sometimes it annoys me that some of the other professors give me a perfect score rather than faulting me for things the way you do. I ramble in my essays and I go over the length permitted for the essays, but they always mark me with extra points for that. Sometimes I prefer to lose a few when you mark my work, knowing that you'll scrawl all over it ripping it to shreds and pointing out everything I did wrong so that I'll know for next time."

"I've been doing that for six years and you still always go over the inch-limit," he deadpanned.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Sometimes I find too much information that seems pertinent and relevant to the topic and I can't butcher it all down."

"And as a result, you flip flop all over the place, landing the right answer to every question only because you also list all the wrong ones. You refuse to decisively gamble on one option being correct and more viable over another, covering all the bases to ensure you get the answer right, every time."

"Isn't that a good thing in Potion making?" she asked, frowning. "Accuracy and fresh ingredients are key to making a perfect potion."

He shook his head, smirking just a little when she narrowed her eyes.

"Potion making is an exact art. If you treated an experimental potion the way your treat everything else, you'd never get anywhere and would most likely have it explode in your face. Potion making is about  _knowing_  which ingredient will provide the optimum effect and betting everything you have on that ingredient. If you throw in everything that  _might_  work, you just end up with bad soup."

Hermione frowned at him for a long moment.

"You've never taught us about experimental potions," she pointed out. "Just that we have to follow the recipe and use the techniques you've taught us to make the potions."

"Did you imagine I set all those essays for the fun of it?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I don't actually enjoy marking the illegible scribbling of horny teenagers, Miss Granger. I set them to teach all of you about the ingredients and how they can interact. To teach you how to think, and how to figure out what might work more efficiently. If you go through life following someone else's instructions, you just end up in a cookie-cutter existence that will ultimately leave you with a sense of dissatisfaction and regret."

"Is this going to turn into a path less trodden debate?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.

"No," he said, surprising her when he actually laughed like she'd told a joke. "Merlin,  _no_! Some people need the well-trodden path just to get by and to give them direction. But some need to venture off into the wilderness of an adventure. Potion making is the same. Many people, when they conclude their education, never pick up a cauldron again. They purchase what they need from an apothecary and it's all just a waste of their time learning how to brew. Others learn to think, to question, to eliminate ideas based on trial and error until they achieve something great."

Hermione frowned at him.

"Do you ever actually cover experimental potion making?" Hermione asked. "I know you personally like to experiment, having seen your sixth year potions textbook, but do you ever teach those things?"

He smirked.

"Only to NEWTs students who express an aptitude for it," he said. "It is too dangerous an art form to permit every student to do it. Some need the recipe. I haven't taught it in many years, in fact. None of the students have expressed that aptitude. The only one in recent years who I'd have considered teaching it to is Draco, actually."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Not me?" she asked, frowning. "You don't think I have the aptitude?"

He smirked meanly. "You live your life absorbing facts and applying them to your own life, regurgitating your knowledge. You don't extrapolate. I've tried for years to teach you how to extrapolate the most relevant information and to apply only that information to an essay or a potion, but you never do it. I'd have more success trying to teach Weasley the art of experimental potion making than you."

Hermione gasped, scandalized. Not because she didn't know Ron was actually incredibly clever when he needed to be, but because she'd never been told she'd be passed over for someone else in an academic sense.

"Ron?" she asked. "Really?"

"He sees through the bullshit," Snape shrugged his shoulders. "He cuts to the heart of the matter, picks a plan of attack, and runs with it. He often fails, but he makes a decision and sticks to it. You don't. You have contingency plans. You cover every hoop, prepare for every misstep. You add too many ingredients to the pot and end up over-seasoning it into something ultimately useless because you don't allow it the chance to explode."

"You're suggesting exploding cauldrons is a good thing?" she asked. "I've spent years in a classroom alongside Seamus. You  _always_  yell at him for exploding his cauldron."

"His explosion are usually intentional," Snape sneered. "He just likes to watch things go 'bang'. However, even he would be better at experimental potions than you. He finds the ingredient most likely to cause the explosion and uses it. You would never risk it."

"You're saying I'm a well-trodden path kind of witch? Dull? Boring? One of the sheep?" she challenged, glaring at him.

Snape smirked cruelly.

"Oh, yes," he nodded maliciously. "Very much so. You do it intentionally. I believe you  _know_ how to handle the adventure, to brew the potion in a way no one ever has before. But you don't. All your life you've stood out. Too clever. Too magical in a muggle world. Too… frizzy. You've spent so long training yourself to fit it, to fit the mold of what you've been taught is the  _right_  thing, that you rarely dare to spill out of that mold and create something out of the chaos. You intend to go through life ticking all the boxes. Graduate with perfect grades. Get yourself an illustrious career. Find a husband, buy a white-picket-fence house with him, and squirt out enough brats to be acceptable, and not so few as to be lonely, like you were. Life is boiled down to a checklist in your mind, and that's fine. Many people carry the same list, check their boxes, and die just after the regret and the bitterness begins to settle in and take root."

"I hardly think I'm going to check all the boxes, Snape. At least, not in the right order," she replied evenly. "After all, I got the husband long before the graduation, career, or house."

"Just be grateful you didn't do it arse-backwards and begin with the children," he sneered in retort and Hermione winced, knowing that if Voldemort got his way, children would be the next box checked off her list.

She looked down at her lap, and she was sure she heard him emit a soft, almost completely concealed sigh in frustration. Hermione suspected he was thinking the same thing she was – that in short order they would both have a child, for a few brief moments, before it would be ripped away from them for nefarious purpose.

"Come here," he commanded quietly rather than continuing to dwell on what he'd said, obviously intending to brush off whatever foul thoughts were running through his head.

"I am here," Hermione pointed out, since she was already sitting within three feet of the man.

He levelled her a glare and Hermione huffed before shoving some torn wrapping paper on the floor and shuffling across the cushions in his direction. When she was close enough that their knees brushed, Hermione looked at him expectantly.

"Take out your wand," he instructed,

She didn't bother to ask why when he levitated the gift he'd been attempting to curse-break in front of the pair of them.

"Wave your wand over it and cast the charm to detect curses," he instructed.

Hermione did so, muttering the charm he'd taught her in her lessons at Hogwarts before the end of term.

"I can't detect anything," she said, frowning at the object and wondering why he thought it was cursed.

"No, you can't," he said. "Because Dolohov is a sneaky bastard and invents his own curses in the same way I invent my own potions. Cast a spell to detect any form of regular magic."

Hermione frowned. "Dark magic, or Light?" she asked.

Snape eyed her. "You've forgotten when I taught you about spells and their intent in my office," he said quietly. "You need to be able to tell the difference, and to pick up on both, whilst recognizing that the magic is the same, it is only the intent that changes. In this instance, that knowledge is vital because Dolohov likes to layer his curses with both light and dark magic to better fool the victim into thinking it's a friendly charm before revealing its capricious nature."

Hermione frowned, nodding before casting the spell to detect any form of charm or curse that might be attached to the object. She blinked when it lit up like a Christmas tree, glowing brightly in several different shades.

"More than one spell?" she guessed, looking at Snape and raising her eyebrows.

He nodded, watching her closely.

"Do you know how to peel back layered spells?" he asked.

"I… not really," Hermione confessed. "I mean, I know how to counter-curse, but some of the counter-curses for one charm might have a poor effect on the other charms."

"Another reason Dolohov favours this method," Snape nodded, smirking a little. "He was a Curse Breaker before he was convicted. He invents his own spells and has always had a knack for understanding how spells work and interact. As such, he knows how to combine volatile strains of magic without having it explode in his face. What's more, he knows how to ensure that anyone without the same understanding will suffer the ill effects of those mingled curses if they attempt to meddle with them."

"How?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Are you telling the mudblood all my secrets, Snape?" a Russian accented voice intruded on the moment and Hermione jumped just the tiniest bit in surprise before her expression tightened int one of annoyance when Dolohov, Rowle, both Lestrange wizards, and both Malfoy wizards filed into the living room where she was sitting with her husband.

Hermione scowled when she realized they were all helping themselves to chairs and making themselves at home, glancing at Snape in frustration and beginning to think it was going to be a very long holidays season.


	29. Chapter 29

Eyeing the arriving Death Eaters with no small sense of annoyance, it occurred to Hermione suddenly that she still only wore her dressing gown, not having returned to the bedroom to change since her fight with Severus during the night. Something all of the men in the room seemed inclined to notice and pointedly stare at. She was uncomfortably aware that in addition to only wearing her house-coat, she was covered in bites, bruises, and smears of blood because she hadn't bathed or treated any of the injuries Snape had inflicted last night except for the burn on her shoulder. Slanting a look of frustration at Snape, Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh that she didn't even have to feign.

"I do hope that living with you won't constantly involve having your friends dropping by, unannounced, Snape," Hermione said tartly before rising to her feet and pulling her hands from Snape's grip. "Honeymoons are supposed to be spent in private, you know?"

"Don't get up on our account, Princess," Rowle smirked, lounging in one of the armchairs and eyeing her like he was utterly amused by her appearance. Given that her hair was probably a frizzy mess, Hermione  _almost_ didn't blame him.

"Still in your house coat at this hour, Madam Snape?" Lucius clucked his tongue judgmentally.

Hermione narrowed her eyes on all of them before slanting another look at Severus. He didn't look bothered by their company or their intrusion, and she'd swear there was a wicked gleam of amusement in his eyes when he met her gaze. Scowling at him, Hermione swept out of the room with her nose in the air, not bothering to say another word, though she petulantly wanted to remind him that she's asked to spend the day doing something terribly domestic with him.

"Where's Greyback?" she heard Dolohov ask of Snape before she was out of earshot and Hermione's steps faltered a little when she realized she hadn't seen him since last night when he'd told her that her biological grandfather was actually his brother.

"No idea," Snape drawled in response.

"He's supposed to be here," Dolohov said, his Russian accented voice thick.

"I haven't seen him since the Dark Lord spoke to the two of us yesterday," Severus replied, and Hermione narrowed her eyes before continuing on her way, recalling that Greyback had mentioned having been there when Voldemort had spoken to Severus about the notion of stealing their child for himself.

Scowling, she stomped away up the corridor, intent on changing into something a little more appropriate and attempting to tame her hair. Having barely slept and still having so much of her magic depleted, she was in no mood for facing their current company and it was harder than she'd have liked not to fall back into bed and sleep away the rest of the day when she crossed the bedroom.

She dressed quickly in muggle jeans and an oversized jumper she'd pinched from Ron. Stomping her feet into her slippers and pulling her hair into a messy bun when she tried and failed to make it play nicely, Hermione stormed through the house intent on getting some food in her stomach and maybe a good strong cup of tea into her system, lest she go on a rampage or throw a tantrum.

"You be wanting breakfast, mistress?" Tupsy asked, appearing at her side as she strode through the myriad of corridors.

Hermione almost jumped out of her skin in surprise.

"Merlin, Tupsy!" Hermione gasped, clutching at her chest as she turned to the elf.

"Tupsy didn't mean to frighten you, Mistress," the elf apologized, though he looked amused.

Hermione nodded her head.

"I'd love some breakfast," she said. "You might as well lay something out for everyone, since it seems I am doomed to a life of playing hostess as long as I live here under the Dark Lord's reign."

"At the Dining table, Mistress?" Tupsy confirmed.

Hermione nodded.

Tupsy grinned and disappeared to rally the other elves in the kitchen and she sighed as she remembered that before the break, Professor Flitwick and many of her other teachers had all given them homework. She could hardly continue her research about werewolves without drawing suspicion and she  _did_  need to get the homework done. Turning right back around, Hermione hurried back to the bedroom and cracked open her trunk to dig out her books and her schoolbag with all her ink and quills and parchment.

She didn't care what the Death Eaters would think of her. She was in no mood to play the polite hostess today and if she couldn't spend the day with Snape, she might as well do something productive. She expected that at some stage she would need to return to Grimmauld Place and face the firing squad all over again. The longer she stayed away and put off the inevitable, the more that Harry would stew in his rage. She didn't even want to imagine what Molly would say.

No, far better to use the time to get her homework finished and out of the way before term resumed. She doubted she'd have the time or the inclination to do it later in the break and she rather loathed that something that usually brought her joy today felt like a chore. Everything felt like a frivolous waste of time in comparison to the war they needed to wage, and Hermione made a mental note that when she next returned to Headquarters, she was going to give Harry a piece of her mind about getting a wriggle on with finding the horcruxes and destroying them. Not that she wanted to fall pregnant sooner than necessary, but the sooner they got this war over and done with, the less people had to die.

She had thought herself into a positively wretched mood by the time she returned to storm through the living room where the others were still gathered.

"Granger?" she heard Malfoy ask when she stalked right through their midst, ignoring all of them, before letting herself into the dining room. She took up the seat at the head of the table, refusing to pander to the societal norms for such things, and she immediately swung her bag up onto the hard surface and began unpacking.

"What are you doing?" she heard a familiar drawl from the door and Hermione looked over to see Malfoy leaning in the doorway, watching her with a little frown on his face.

"Homework," she shrugged. "And waiting for breakfast. The elves are serving it in a minute."

"Homework?" he asked incredulously, frowning at her like she'd gone mad.

Hermione raised one eyebrow at him.

"What? You think that just because you're a Death Eater, that you're exempt from doing your holiday homework, Malfoy?" Hermione challenged. "I don't think a signed note from Voldemort will get you out of it."

Hisses sounded from the next room at her casual use of their lord's name, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You're surrounded by Death Eaters and you're doing homework?" Malfoy asked. "Granger, have you lost your mind?"

"Surrounded by Death Eaters; surrounded by my husband's friends. I can't currently kill any of you, so what else do you propose I do with my time, Malfoy? You lot turned up and ruined the plans I had for seducing my husband back into bed with me, and this homework  _does_  need to be done sometime these holidays. And it's this or sit and make small-talk with all of you, and to be frank, I find your company repugnant."

"You know, you're a real piece of work, Princess," Rowle informed her, strolling into the room behind Malfoy and eyeing her like she might be a bit mad and maybe like he rather admired her bollocks.

"Eat me, Rowle," Hermione retorted.

"Oh, I would, Princess," Rowle threatened, shooting her a wicked smirk.

"Good luck with that," she said. "If I don't manage to murder you, I'm sure my husband will. If only to appease the magic of our Vows."

She held up her hand, showing off the still ever so slightly glowing tendrils of magic that wrapped around her wrist like barbed wire.

"Shame, too," Rowle said. "You might have a foul mouth, but I reckon you'd taste as sweet as cinnamon."

Hermione rolled her eyes before flipping open her homework planner and scanning its contents for the many projects she'd been given to work on over the break. She narrowed her eyes when she recalled that she'd been given an insurmountable number of assignments, in addition to begging for extra-credit tasks that she could work on. When she thought she'd be attending Grimmauld Place all holiday, she'd believed she'd need the extra assignments to keep her busy. Merlin, how her holiday plans had changed.

Scowling, Hermione supposed she'd be best served getting the projects for Professor Flitwick out of the way, first, since she tended to be rather good at Charms, and knew that Flitwick's homework would be a good warm up before leading into Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Herbology and then Potions.

"You're really going to sit and do homework rather than talk to any of us?" Rowle asked, strolling over to the table and sitting down at it a few chairs away from the end when he saw how much space her books and parchment took up.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd shut your mouth so I can focus on it, rather than making small talk with you, Rowle."

"You're a real bitch, you know?" he said, though he sounded wickedly amused rather than offended.

"And you're a real moron," Hermione replied in the same tone. "Do let's end the conversation now, before we devolve to further name-calling and I'm forced to offend you, Superstar."

"Why do you have so many books in this thing?" Malfoy asked, moving over and leaning across the table to pick up a few of her books. "What the hell are all of these, Granger? I'm sure we were only given homework for Flitwick, McGonagall and Snape."

"And Vector, and Sprout, and Sinistra, and Binns, and Babbling," Hermione listed them off.

"What?" Malfoy frowned. "We've got Ancient Runes homework for the holidays?"

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him he was a moron if he didn't know that, but before she could speak he plucked her homework planner up off the desk and began flipping through it.

"What the hell are all these?" Draco asked, his cheeks paling a little as his eyes widened.

"The ones written in purple ink are extra-credit assignments," Hermione told him. "Those written in black, blue, red, or green are assignments due when term resumes."

"Are you sure?" Malfoy asked. "I don't have half of these written down."

"Yes, well," Hermione smirked cruelly at him. "You tend to miss things if you don't bother turning up to class, Malfoy. If you spent a bit more time in our lessons and a bit less time lurking in the Room of Requirement, you might be more aware of the homework assignments you are undoubtedly behind on."

He looked up at her sharply, his grey eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How do you know where I've been when I'm not in class?" he demanded. "Keeping tabs on me, Granger?"

"You're a marked Death Eater, Malfoy," Hermione rolled her eyes. "The whole school is keeping tabs on you, not the least of which are your teachers. Do you really think, after missing a swath of lessons, that the Headmaster is unaware of your activities? Do you think Snape, as your Head of House, hasn't been fending off complaints and accusations from the other teachers when you don't bother showing up to class? Did you actually think that after attacking Harry on the train at the start of the year, we wouldn't  _all_  be keeping a close eye on where you are at all times, either to stage a retaliation attack, or to keep a lookout for more violence on your part? Believe me, I didn't need to confirm that you were in attendance at my wedding as one of the Death Eaters, Malfoy. The Order was already very much aware of that fact."

He looked both panicked and angry when he met her gaze, and Hermione smirked meanly before lowering her eyes on her homework once more.

"Been a bit obvious, eh, Malfoy?" Rowle taunted.

"Fuck off, Finn," Malfoy snapped. "Granger, Potter knows I'm a Death Eater?"

Hermione snorted.

"He's known about Daddy Dearest since fourth year, Malfoy. I don't think any of us were all that surprised that you've followed in his footsteps to become a cruel, foul git. Disappointed, perhaps – at least, I was – but hardly surprised."

"Did you just refer to me as "Daddy Dearest", Madam Snape?" Lucius Malfoy drawled as the other Death Eaters all began filing into the dining room when food appeared on the table.

Hermione looked over.

"I did," Hermione nodded. "And also as a cruel, foul git."

Hermione caught the way Snape smirked as he entered the room behind Lucius in time to hear the insult.

"Well, she's got you pegged, eh, Malfoy?" Rabastan Lestrange said, smirking as he rounded the table to sit by Rowle.

"Disappointed?" Draco asked quietly, frowning at Hermione intently.

Hermione looked over and met his gaze seriously, frowning a little when she realized he was genuinely baffled and perhaps even a little afraid that she'd said she'd been disappointed to learn he'd actually become a Death Eater. She wondered if she ought to tell him why. She wondered if it might be a conversation better received without six other Death Eaters in the room, before throwing caution to the wind and giving it to him straight.

"After I slapped you in third year, you stopped being quite so much of a ponce, Malfoy. You were still a wretched git most of the time in an annoying, school-yard bully kind of way, and you still are, particularly to Harry. But that slap knocked your head out of your arse. During those unfortunate instances since then when you and I have been forced to work together in lessons or on assignments, you acted less of a wanker than you'd done in previous years. Still arrogant, still prejudiced, but a little less of a prat." Hermione shrugged her shoulders, reached for a plate and began to serve herself some food as she spoke. "I suppose I had hoped that one day you might outgrow being such a bastard entirely and make something of yourself that wasn't based on the reputation of your family name. You're hardly stupid, after all. You might've one day made a great deal of difference to the advancement of the wizarding world – something that someone like me could never dream of because I'm smart enough but I haven't the favour of the utterly prejudiced masses. You, Draco Malfoy, could have changed the world for the better. You will have doors opened to you that I certainly never will, and you're smart enough and innovative enough that you could've knocked the dust and the 18th century right out of the wizarding world, allowing us as a society to finally advance."

Malfoy's eyes were wide as he stared at her, still gripping her homework planner loosely and looking rather like he'd been hit upside the head.

"Instead, you allowed yourself to be bullied and coerced into a life of crime and wretchedness," Hermione went on, heedless of the other Death Eaters and the looks they were all giving her; none of them friendly. Even Snape looked a bit like he wished she wouldn't continue. "You've got that wretched tattoo on your forearm, and you are at the beck and call of a maniac, commanded to carry out his bidding, and for what? A misinformed and misguided prejudice against a collection of people who make up our world. I was disappointed when I learned you'd become a Death Eater, Draco, because you threw away your potential for greatness. You could've changed the world. Instead, when the time comes, and your Dark Lord is defeated – and make no mistake, Malfoy, Lord Voldemort  _will_  be defeated – you, and the rest of you in this very room, all of you who bear the Dark Mark will be hunted down like dogs. Those of you who survive the coming battle will be arrested, tried for your crimes, and shipped off to live out the remainder of your lives in Azkaban. Of course, after the mass break-out, I suspect the Ministry might be less willing to risk  _that_  political nightmare again, and so I expect that a good deal of you – probably you, Dolohov, both of you Lestranges, Bellatrix, certainly – you will all be given the Dementor's Kiss and the hollow husks of your bodies will remain; empty, impotent, and left to rot somewhere out of sight and out of mind.  _That_  is the fate that awaits all of you at this war's end. And so, yes, I was disappointed when you became a Death Eater, Draco. I'd have liked to see the man you might've grown to become and the changes you'd have implemented. Instead, I expect I will one day have to testify at your trial when you're charged as a criminal before you're locked up for the rest of your life. It's a tragedy, really, and even now when I look at you that same sense of disappointment fills me as surely as it did when I first spotted you threatening a man and showing him your Dark Mark as incentive that he not challenge your authority."

Silence reigned when she finished speaking and Hermione picked up a bit of toast and bit into it nonchalantly, slanting her gaze from Malfoy and over to Snape. His expression was blank, his eyes slightly narrowed, his gaze fixed upon her and she didn't have to be a genius to know he was angry with her. Hermione didn't care.

"The Dark Lord won't be defeated, girl," Dolohov said after a lengthy silence where all of them looked simultaneously stunned and angry.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"He will," she assured him. "As surely as the sun will rise, the Dark Lord will fall, and his Knights along with him. The great tragedy of our time will stain the history books, names like yours spoken in disgusted and hushed tones. Years from now, the future generations of the wizarding world, be they pureblood, half-blood or muggleborn will study the very war we are waging. They'll be given assignments on it, just like this one," she pointed to the History of Magic essay she'd been assigned. "They'll be asked to dissect how society failed so spectacularly as to have allowed the same monster to rise up twice, to wage war twice. Students will one day write of Voldemort and his Death Eaters with the same horror that we currently do when speaking of Hitler and his Nazis, or of Grindelwald and his followers. That same revile will fill their thoughts when they learn of the horrid things people like all of you did in the name of Blood Purity when not a man alive in the entire wizarding world can truly claim  _purity_. Merlin, himself, was a half-blood, but you all bleat about it like it matters in the end."

"You dare…" Rodolphus began.

"You think it  _doesn't_  matter, what a man has flowing through his veins?" Rabastan interrupted his brother's horror over – Hermione suspected – her statement about Merlin's blood status. "You truly believe one's blood has no bearing on their place in this world?"

Hermione looked over at the man seriously, noting the curiosity in his green eyes. She suspected that he'd never met a witch like her before; someone who so boldly challenged everything he'd ever been taught. He'd spent his best years in Azkaban prison, so she suspected that he was truly curious, rather than angry.

"Tell me something, Lestrange," Hermione said, laying down her piece of toast and lacing her fingers together. "When you were sitting in your prison cell, did your blood matter? Did being a pureblood keep you any warmer in those thin rags as the bitter wind ripped in off the North Sea? Were you better able to withstand the effect of the Dementors every time they passed your cell because of your supposedly  _pure_  blood?"

Rabastan cocked his head to one side.

"How would I know?" he asked. "I've only my own experiences to base the knowledge upon. And I've hardly interacted with anyone who wasn't of pure descent that spent as much time in one of those cells as me."

Hermione smirked a little.

"Very well," she nodded. "Then tell me this, you have tortured people of muggle descent, people of pure descent, as well. Did the men and women you slaughtered last night scream and bleed and writhe so very differently from the way Alice and Frank Longbottom did when you tortured them? Was there some notable difference in how well the spell was endured – beyond, of course, the fact that Frank and Alice were trained Aurors?"

Rabastan's eyes widened that she would dare speak of the crime that had landed him, his brother, his sister-in-law, and his friend in their cells to begin with.

"The Cruciatus curse is endured differently by every person," he shrugged his shoulders. "I've seen some muggles endure it better than some pureblood wizards, and some purebloods endure it stoically until the very end. Not that it matters. In the end, that curse can break even the most rigidly controlled minds."

"And when you've opened people's flesh and their blood spills out to stain your hands, is some of it muddier than others?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows. "Does that brilliant shade of crimson take on a dirtier hue if it leaks from the veins of a mudblood? Does it glitter with magic when you bleed a pureblood dry?"

His eyes widened in surprise at her blunt and graphic questions and Hermione suspected he didn't know what to do in the face of woman unafraid to get gritty and real with him. Bellatrix might be willing to open people and watch them bleed, and she might be vulgar and cruel, but Hermione doubted that even Bellatrix Lestrange had ever dared to ask him about the blood staining his hands.

"It all just pours out red," Rabastan admitted begrudgingly.

Hermione's mouth twitched on the urge to smile at the bitter note in his tone and the way he narrowed his eyes.

"Then you tell me, Rabastan. If the blood all pours out red, and if it's the strength of a man's character that dictates his ability to endure whatever is inflicted upon him, rather than his descent,  _does_  it matter what he's got flowing through his veins?"

Rabastan didn't answer.

He looked rather annoyed to have been outwitted, and he looked a bit like he had just realized he'd made a huge mistake, but he didn't speak. Instead, he served himself a meagre breakfast and picked at it with a frown marring his brow.

"Severus?" Lucius spoke in a low, quiet voice a short time later when Hermione had polished off the rest of her breakfast while the Death Eaters all sat and ate in silence.

"Mmmm?" Snape hummed inquiringly, his mouth full and preventing him from speaking.

"I think that your wife might spell the doom of the Death Eaters," Lucius said quietly, the words coming out a little choked like he couldn't believe he was uttering them.

Hermione hid her smirk at the suggestion, keeping her head down and focusing on getting as much of her homework done as she could. When the meal was over, Draco rose from the table without excusing himself and strode out of the room without a word. No one mentioned it while he was gone.

"Tupsy?" Hermione asked after more than an hour had passed as she diligently worked on her essay while Snape and the other Death Eaters conversed quietly, seeming content to simply sit in each other's company and work through their own thoughts.

"Mistress?" the elf asked, appearing by her right elbow and looking eager to serve her.

"Could you bring out some tea and biscuits, please?" Hermione asked of the elf politely.

"Hungry, Mistress?" Tupsy asked. "You not be liking your breakfast?"

The elf wrung his long-fingered hands together, flapping his ears back and forth in distress.

"Breakfast was delicious, Tupsy," Hermione smiled at the elf. "I just like to snack while I study."

"Better watch it, Princess," Rowle said. "All the snacking will pile itself on your arse."

"I believe that having recently been starved in a cell for three days, I can withstand a few snacks packing themselves onto my arse, Rowle," Hermione said mildly. "However, should I overindulge, I'm certain that climbing the three thousand steps from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower every day will be sufficient to budge whatever holiday weight I manage to gain."

Rowle opened his mouth to say something snide, no doubt, but before he could, Dolohov cut him off.

"You could stand to pack on a few pounds anyway,  _koshechka_ ," he said, his Russian accent caressing the endearment in a way that she was certain must make Alecto swoon. "Take it from bastards who know; there is nothing attractive about looking starved."

"Perhaps you'll remember that the next time you knock me unconscious and toss me in a cell from three days, Antonin," Hermione said without looking up from her essay.

"The only one knocking you unconscious or locking you up anywhere in future will be me," Snape inserted in a low drawl and Hermione paused in her writing to look up at him, her eyes meeting his obsidian pair and noting that he looked both possessive and alluring, and Hermione had to fight the urge to smile invitingly.

"Will that be often?" she asked, her lips twitching. "I do recall that you were whining about my being too heavy for your poor, decrepit back."

Rowle snorted, though he attempted to muffle the sound and conceal it as a sneeze. Snape narrowed his eyes on her for the pot shot about his age.

"I do believe  _that_  burn requires an explanation," Rodolphus chuckled, looking wickedly amused.

Hermione grinned. "I made Snape carry me across the threshold like proper newlyweds," she explained.

"Ah," Rodolphus nodded his head, smirking before turning toward Snape. "Weightlessness Charms are your friend, Severus. Believe me, I'd have crippled myself hauling Bella's plump arse across thresholds and up flights of stairs to bed years ago if not for their use… Oh, hello, love."

Right at that moment, Bellatrix Lestrange stalked into their midst and Hermione's brow furrowed in annoyance.

"Another day ruined," she sighed, raking her eyes over Bella scathingly and earning laughter from Rabastan, Thorfinn, Lucius and Severus.

"Did I just hear you referring to me as plump, Rodolphus?" Bellatrix demanded, planting her hands on her ample hips.

In actual fact, for a woman who'd spent fifteen years in prison and only been out a short time she looked incredibly good. Her teeth might be beyond saving, but she had luscious curves for days that Hermione didn't doubt many a man had run his hands over.

"What if you did?" Rodolphus challenged, smirking

Hermione could tell that the man like to play with fire as she watched the two of them interact.

"I would remind you that this plump arse is one you've been begging to cuddle into every night for nigh on thirty years," Bellatrix said.

Lucius clucked his tongue at his brother-in-law. "You're not supposed to beg, Rod. It gives them ideas."

Rodolphus flipped him off though he didn't take his eyes off his wife as she stalked closer before very contemptuously plopping down heavily on her husband's lap. Something that made Rodolphus wince, though he hid the expression by stretching up and stealing a hungry kiss from his wife's lips that almost made Hermione blush. Were it anyone else, Hermione might've thought it cute that after thirty years together a couple could still have such passion. But it wasn't anyone else. It was Bellatrix and Hermione doubted she would ever think a kind thought about the vile bitch.

Shaking her head, she lowered her eyes to her homework once more, intent on finishing as much of it as she could, no matter the congregation of Death Eaters at her dining table. Idly she took note of the fact that Rodolphus and Bellatrix were getting a little carried away, but no one mentioned anything or looked overly put out, making Hermione think this must be common behavior for the two of them. She supposed that if it meant no one had to listen to Bella screeching about something, everyone else would prefer that Rodolphus kept his wife's tongue busy. As long as they didn't mount the table and begin shagging, Hermione didn't care.

Chatter amongst the Death Eaters flowed after that, and they managed to leave Hermione in peace until after almost an hour since he'd left, Draco Malfoy returned.

Hermione looked up in surprise when he stomped up to her end of the table, his book bag from school slung over his shoulder and a scowl on his face. He stomped all the way up until he was sitting in the chair directly to her left before plonking himself down in it and upending his bag onto the table. Quills, ink, parchment, a homework planner and his lesson textbooks all came tumbling out, upsetting some of her things.

"What do you think you're doing?" Hermione wanted to know, scowling at him as some crumbs and debris fell out of his bag, too. She snatched one of her books away before it could be stained when he discovered that one of his inkwells had cracked and was beginning to leak.

"Homework," Malfoy grunted thickly and when Hermione lifted her eyes to she noticed that his eyes were a little red and she wondered if he'd been crying.

"I can see that," Hermione rolled her eyes. "What are you doing snuggling into my pocket to do it?"

Malfoy levelled her a glare as he flicked his wand to mop up the mess made by his cracked inkwell before he leaned over and snatched up her homework planner before she could stop him. She made to reach for it, but he pulled it out of her reach before copying all of the projects she'd listed inside hers and noting them down in his own.

"You'll never catch up on all of them over the break, Malfoy," Hermine protested when she noticed that he was even writing down the extra credit assignments she'd been given.

"Watch me," he grunted, and Hermione raised her eyebrows at his determination.

"I suppose you intend to do so by helping yourself to my notes and my library books, too?" she challenged, scowling when he picked up her Transfiguration notes and began leafing through them.

"Got a problem with that, Granger?" Malfoy challenged before he used his wand to make duplicates of her notes in his own notebooks for each lesson, one after the other copying them down so that he wouldn't have to keep using her books and interrupting her.

"I'm not helping you," Hermione warned him when he finished with her Arithmancy, Charms, Potions, Ancient Runes and Herbology notes before handing them all back to her.

He shrugged his shoulders and opened his Potions homework, apparently intent on working on that one first. Hermione knew that it was his best subject, so she supposed he wanted to ease himself into the work.

"Homework, Draco?" Thorfinn piped up, teasing him as he helped himself to some of the snack cakes and pasties and things that the elves had laid out.

"Got something better to do, Finn?" Draco replied without looking up as he scanned his eyes over the extensive notes Hermione had made during Snape's lessons. "Bloody hell, Granger. Do you actually write down every word of every discussion in class? These are the most extensive set of notes I've ever seen."

"It's all vital information," Hermione frowned.

"And the doodles in the margins?" Malfoy asked, smirking a little when he looked up at her.

Hermione frowned leaning over and reaching for the notes he was referring to. She scowled when she spotted a little doodle of Snape giving a lecture before falling headfirst into a cauldron.

"Ron has apparently been taking advantage of my unguarded notes when I'm in the storerooms in Potions," Hermione huffed, laughing a littler when she spotted another doodle that featured Snape catching on fire.

"Doesn't look like his handwriting," Draco taunted. "Looks like you've been doodling creative deaths for your husband during your lessons with him."

Hermione scowled when, at the other end of the table, Snape stopped talking, looking over at the two of them in question.

"I don't doodle," Hermione rolled her eyes. "And if I were to be doodling the things I fantasize during my husband's lessons, they would be of a more carnal nature."

Draco choked on the mouthful of tea he'd taken, shaking his head at her. Hermione grinned, feeling vindicated before Snape rose to his feet and moved around the table toward her, intent on investigating. She blushed a little when he peered at the drawings impassively before he lifted his eyes to hers.

She held his gaze calmly, though she found herself wanting to get to her feet so she could drag him off to the bedroom and have her way with him.

"Plotting my doom, Miss Granger?" he asked, seeming ever so slightly amused.

"Mmm," Hermione hummed, licking her lips as she eyed him, thinking that she wouldn't even care if he took her right there on the table in front of everyone if she could just have him that minute.

"I was under the impression that your mind tended to wander during my lessons, Miss Granger," he mused, moving a little further around so that he could prop his hip against the table by her chair while he trailed his eyes over her notes once more, apparently surprised by how thorough they were.

"No, sir," Hermione shook her head.

"Never?" he asked, looking wickedly amused as his eyes darted back to hers.

"Not so much as to distract from my note-taking," Hermione offered.

"Swot," he accused, even as Hermione lost the battle she'd been waging to keep her hands to herself.

Reaching out she traced one hand across his stomach and around his back before leaning forward and resting her cheek against his ribcage thanks to the awkward angle while she sat as he stood. He made no move to stop her and Hermione sighed softly, her eyes drifting closed as the hum of magic in her bonds to him tickled her senses, warming her. She snuggled her cheek against his chest, surprised when he allowed her to do so and pleased when she felt him lift one hand before weaving his fingers into her hair.

She didn't know what to make of the fact that no one at the table said a word about it. No one teased her for burrowing into him and no one taunted him for being married to a schoolgirl. Even Malfoy, who sat so close that he could undoubtedly hear the little whine of happiness that escaped her when Snape scraped his nails gently against the nape of her neck, didn't huff or laugh or make fun of her. Hermione didn't know if it was because they understood the magic of the bonds connecting the two of them as newlyweds, or if it was simply that they were surprisingly more tolerant of each other's habits and foibles than she'd ever have imagined, but no one teased them.

Just the same way no one mentioned the fact that Bellatrix was now straddling Rodolphus at the end of the table, snogging him hungrily like she couldn't get enough of the man, even after all this time, no one spoke about how Snape touched her. It occurred to her when she opened her eyes to peer down the length of the table that they really were a family. A twisted, prejudice, criminal family that she rather likened to the German Nazis or perhaps the Russian mod, but a family nonetheless.

Hermione wondered what she was supposed to do about having been invited – forced – into joining their warped little family and what it might mean for her in the future. It seemed strange to be sitting there doing homework alongside Draco Malfoy, and to be able to run her hands over her Professor without being chastised or judged or told off for her behavior. What was more, she wondered what she was supposed to do about the fact that the whole lot of them were making her feel more welcome than her own friends had done since she'd been captured.

Pulling back slowly until she could prop her chin against Snape's chest whilst peering up at him, she widened her eyes a little, inviting him into her mind. She kind of liked the way his lips twitched a little as though he were pleased that she would invite him into her head without fear of what he might find. When he slipped inside Hermione reveled for just a minute in the feeling of being so intimate with him. She didn't know how to project images to him of what she wanted him to see, they way he did, but she did her best, summoning up thoughts of needing to return to Headquarters shortly, imagining him joining her there.

Snape shook his head slowly before he pushed an image of the Dark Lord into her mind, before allowing her to see snippets of the horror and evil he'd committed the night before and how they would likely have to do so again. She frowned at him, curling her arms around him tighter until she clung to him, not wanting him to go off and hurt people when he could stay there with her. Part of her knew that it was a side effect of the magic linking the two of them in marriage and that it would fade with time, but right then Hermione couldn't think of anything worse than being separated from him and she flashed images of all the carnalities she'd like to visit upon his person, wondering if he might be convinced to abandon the other Death Eaters there at the table before ravishing her senseless in their bedroom.

Snape withdrew from her mind with a low chuckle as though her suggestions amused him, and Hermione lifted herself off him to peer at him in confusion. She squeaked when he lifted her up out of her chair until she was standing before he pulled her into his arms, holding her snugly and making her sigh with contentment all over again. Hermione quivered when he nosed the hair away from her ear before pressing his lips her to skin, nibbling her ear lobe teasingly.

"You have to finish your homework before you get a reward, Miss Granger," he drawled huskily, and Hermione felt like he'd hotwired those words straight to her clit.

Merlin, how many times had she wanted to hear him say such things to her? Burrowing her face into his neck, Hermione kissed his skin hungrily, nipping him in punishment for denying her and drawing a low, wicked laugh from him. His hands tangled into her hair, angling her face before he lowered his mouth to hers and Hermione thought she might melt into a big puddle of neediness right there in his arms when he kissed her slowly, his lips moving over hers before parting so that he could lay claim to her tongue.

Hermione kissed him until she was dizzy, and she whimpered when he pulled away. He smirked down at her for a moment before lowering her back into her chair and stepping backward, out of her reach. She almost rose from her chair to follow him before watching the way he leaned over just a little, his finger tracing through the air to capture her attention before he lowered it to her notes and tapped them indicatively.

She got the message loud and clear. He wasn't going to lay another finger on her until she'd finished her homework. As she nodded slowly, her breath ragged and her heart racing inside her chest with just the simple thrill of snogging him, Hermione dove back into her homework with more abandon than ever before.


End file.
